Montoya Valley, chapter 3

He awoke with a start. His head hurt, and he couldn't tell where he was. Or, even, who he was, really ... Everything was dark, and closed in. He tried to raise his arm, and felt it hit the wood above his head. He almost started to tremble, and reached out to both sides. Wood. He turned his head, and felt beneath him with his cheek. Wood. Someone had boxed him up. He was in a coffin! No, they couldn't have buried him already! He wasn't dead!
Frantically, he started banging on the wood. It echoed hollowly, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief. He had to get out of here! He braced his arms, and legs, and pushed against the top of the coffin with all his strength. The wood creaked and groaned, but did not open. He tried to push harder, putting all of his will into it, yet still the wood did not budge. Starting to panic, he clawed at the wood above his face, trying in vain to shred the boards and let him out. His elbow brushed against something cold and metal, his knife! Somehow, he pulled it loose from the sheath, and started chopping and scraping at the boards. Wood dust and chips fell on his face, yet he seemed not to notice they were there, beating against the strong oak boards, trying to escape this fate!
Scraping with the knife, and beating, he finally heard one board crack. He dropped the knife, and braced his arms again. The board strained, and cracked again, then splintered apart. He reached up through the six inch wide hole now, and managed to fit his upper body out through the hole. He recognized the place despite the faint light, the stone tomb, where the bodies of the dead were placed before burial in the ground. Carefully, operating by feel only, he pulled himself fully out of the coffin, and reached back in to retrieve his knife. Turning around, he stepped out of the shadows, into the faint moonlight in front of the door. He stopped, though, as he caught sight of his arm. His skin looked parched, cracked apart as though something had drained away every drop water in his body.
Drained ...
A flash of memory came to him then, standing in the graveyard, holding that book he paid the thief so much to steal from the Duke's library, as the zombie pulled him down ... felt the touch of her rotten lips, as his dead sister sucked the life from his body ...
Flynn tried to scream, but his undead body had not drawn a breath. No noise came out, though his body and face locked into one of eternal agony and pain. Still trying to scream, he raised his withered hand to his throat, and felt there a design, scratched into his neck by his dead sister's fingers.
A six pointed star inside a circle.

Jared took a final look around and turned back. He cupped his hands to his mouth. "No sign of trouble here, Shil!" He yelled to his partner. The reply came back shortly, "Nothing here either!" Jared yawned and sat down on a nearby rock. "I'm going to head back to the castle, Shil -- gonna let the Dawn Patrol take over." Jared lay back on the rock and gazed up at the moon. He yawned, and closed his eyes. He realized Shil hadn't answered his call. "Shil? You hear me, buddy?" No answer.
Jared opened his eyes -- the moon was blood red. Jared gasped and quickly shook his head and blinked... when he looked back up the moon was just as normal as ever. Jared sat up -- he realized that the night had suddenly turned cold. "Shil? Shil, are you there?" No answer. "H-hello?" Jared shouted shakily. He got to his feet and unsheathed his sword. "Shil, if this is some sort of trick..." He thought he heard an echo of a scream, a cry of panic... Shil? Was that Shil? Jared held his breath, his entire body quaking with fear, cold sweat running down his forehead.
A thud hit the ground behind him, and he wheeled to confront his attacker... but only saw Shil's corpse, his chest torn apart, his limbs and face crushed and battered almost beyond recognition. Jared cried out and spun around. It came out of the inky blackness, as if it was part of the night itself. Jared could not do anything, he was frozen, transfixed in place. He took one final look at upwards, and saw the moon was blood red. And then it was upon him, and there was a moment of glaring pain... then nothing. Caine stood over the corpses as his Night Gaunt sank bank into the blackness from whence it came. Soon, he thought. Very soon.

Irini and Gerard stood at the castle gates, peering out towards the rising sun in the east, watching for their cousin Cirra. Hopefully, Gerard thought, Cirra would be able to cure Father of whatever it was that ailed him. Cirra was a known practitioner of the healing arts, both apothecarial and magical. Surely there must be something she could do. "Look, Gerard," Irini pointed, excitedly, "there she is!" Cirra's horse came down the path, and Irini rushed out towards her.
Cirra was older than the two siblings by a bit, but she and Irini always enjoyed time spent together. Gerard had always been a bit aloof with Cirra... her path was always shrouded in mystery. Gerard's uncle, Cirra's father, had been banished from the land by his grandfather. There had been a great struggle over whether Cirra was to be taken by the uncle, or left with the Duke. Cirra was left with the Duke, but left castle Montoya at an early age to follow the life of a healer. However, Gerard couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, Cirra was connected to the events of late.
His train of thought was broken by a messenger's shout. "Lady Irini, Lord Gerard! Two more are dead!"
Gerard spun to face the messenger. "What? Where?"
The messenger beckoned them to follow. "Near the town! Two militia, ripped apart!"
Gerard turned to Irini and Cirra. "You two should stay here. Irini, show Cirra to her quarters." Irini nodded solemnly, and Gerard turned and followed the messenger down the path.

Lenk was tired of running. He was a coward, a weakling. He did not like to fight, despite his great skill. And now he was enslaved to yet another master, one seemingly more powerful than the constant fear that controlled him. Lenk decided to head towards Castle Montoya, where he would hopefully be either killed or kept safe. Anything would be better than this, he thought. "Another one!" Lenk spun towards the voice, coming from behind him. "Die, goblin!" His attacker, a young male, obviously a Scout, yelled.
Lenk, without thinking, dropped his broken pike and drew the two swords he had taken from his goblin brethren that night. Enraged that he had been attacked for no reason other than the fact that he was a goblin, he prepared to fight the human. The Scout grinned at the sight of Lenk's double swords. "Mark another one on the board for Diego," he chuckled.

Diego had never seen a goblin fight so well. This goblin was obviously a warrior of great status among his people. Every strike Diego swung was parried and countered, forcing him back and back. Two swords, Diego thought to himself, are certainly better than one. And the goblin had no trouble using dual swords. Diego hopped backwards to avoid being disemboweled by a swinging blade. Quickly, he countered with a downward strike, but it was blocked and he quickly had to spin aside to avoid the thrusting blade that countered him. Using the momentum from his spin, he lashed out with his foot and caught the goblin by surprise.
Diego's foot struck the goblin's left arm, sending the blade hurtling through the air. Instead of rushing for the blade immediately, like Diego expected he would, the goblin lashed out repeatedly at Diego, his efforts redoubled, driving the Scout back and back. Diego sweated beads. Where had this goblin learned to fight so well?! He had never fought so hard in his life. Diego gritted his teeth and took advantage of a slight falter by the goblin to press his own attack, driving the short monster up against a tree. Diego batted the sword out of the goblin's hand and pinned him to the trunk of the tree with his forearm, holding the point of his sword at the goblin's throat.
"You are an excellent fighter," Diego panted. "But I have won this round." To Diego's surprise, the goblin began to cry.
"Please," the goblin stammered. "Please kill me and release me from this cursed life." Only then did Diego notice the brand on the goblin's left shoulder... a six-pointed star inside a circle.
Diego let the goblin off the tree, where it fell to the ground, still weeping. "I think..." Diego started, "I think you had better come with me to Castle Montoya."

"Flynn."
What was this voice that called him?
"Flynn."
Who was it? Why wouldn't they leave him alone?!
"Flynn."
Flynn covered his ears banged his head against a tree trunk. But it was no use.
"Flynn... come to me, Flynn."
The voice beckoned him, and Flynn was powerless to resist.
"Come, Flynn."
Flynn wished he could weep, but his sunken undead eyes produced nothing.
"Flynn..."
Flynn looked up at his new master, the towering bulk of it... and the brand on its shoulder that glowed blood red in the moonlight.

It had been two nights since Higgins had had the fight with the goblins, and he lay down with a wound on his leg. He would have to get back to the healer at Montoya quickly. He had been overwhelmed that night, as when the goblin with the brand on his arm had ran, another goblin party had come. He was a dwarven warrior with a mighty axe, but this time the goblins got the better of him. He didn't remember how he had managed to escape that night but he did know that there was something odd about the goblin with the brand. Higgins, still angry about the stranger, made his way back to town to be treated by the healer.
When Higgins got out of the healers, his leg feeling much better he went to go to the Black Boar when he saw Diego, a well known scout coming back he was amazed at what he saw. Diego was helping the goblin with the brand into the keep like he knew him. Outraged Higgins ran to the Black Boar to tell the barkeeper what he had seen when he saw yet another stranger, and the bard playing songs. Higgins lifted up his axe and struck it on the table wondering what his town was coming to. He knew he couldn't go out to the forest again because of his leg that still needed time to heal. He walked over to the table where his friends were sitting at and muttered to them of what he had seen and what the town was coming to.

Caine watched from his hiding spot, as Diego carried the now unconscious goblin into the Montoya keep. Caine could tell the goblin wasn't dead, despite all of his efforts through the brand. The large man rubbed his own scar, still feeling the lingering burn. It had taken him several years to learn how to channel magic through the magical symbol, and Caine's mastery of it was less than perfect.
As the portcullis closed behind Diego, the scout saw Gerard across the courtyard. "Milord Gerard!" Diego shouted across the courtyard, and then bit his lip as the Duke's son turned back to regard him. Gerard noticed the goblin that Diego was carrying in, and the scout looked exhausted from his burden. "What's this, scout? I thought the soldiers only made bets on how many they killed. Are you taking bets to bring them back alive?" Diego shook his head, and set Lenk down on the ground. As Gerard bent over to look closer, Diego pulled back part of the goblin's tunic. Gerard almost jumped back in surprise, catching sight of the glowing brand, the same symbol Irini had burned into her shoulder. Gerard quickly picked up the goblin's body, and started off at a run for the castle. Unnoticed behind him, Diego followed.
Gerard guessed that his sister would be in her tower room, so down the hallways he ran, and started up the stairs. About halfway up the tower, he finally had to stop to walk. Diego, gasping and stumbling over the steps, was almost shocked at the young man's energy. Finally, they reached the top. Gerard carefully balanced himself, and kicked at the door twice. After some moments, the door melted away to nothing, and Irini stood there, looking quite shocked. After she looked over her brother, the goblin, and the scout, she stood aside from the door, and gestured for them to enter.
"What is going on here, Gerard?" Irini leaned against the wall, the flickering flames of her brazier sending jumping shadows across the walls. Diego almost shivered at the sound of her voice, low but full of power. Gerard, instead of answering, lowered Lenk to the floor, and again exposed the fiery brand in his shoulder.
Irini gasped in shock, almost jumping backwards like her brother. She looked from her brother to Diego, the scout obviously the capturer of the branded goblin. Diego gulped, and cleared his throat. "Milady, I c-came on this goblin in the forest, during my normal patrols. He fought, very well, like a trained soldier would. I managed to disarm him, and he begged for me to kill him. Then I saw the b-brand on his shoulder, and it l-looked," Diego stopped, taking several deep breaths. Should he mention his dreams? No, better to keep silent. "It looked like the symbol Flynn had traced into the ground before he died. I was bringing him back here, when he suddenly screamed and grabbed at his shoulder. The brand, it was like it was truly burning, milady. He passed out, so I carried him back as fast as I could."
Diego shrank further back against the stone wall behind him, as Irini looked angry at his tale. Diego remembered some of the tales about her mother, when the Duchess had gotten angry. But instead of turning on the scout, as he feared, Irini knelt down in front of the goblin. She chanted a few words, making a mystical pass, and the fiery red glow faded from Lenk's brand. Gerard turned the goblin's head to the side, taking a better look in the firelight. "This is Lenk, that goblin informant we captured a few years back, isn't it?" Irini just nodded, looking at Lenk, still unconscious on the floor.
Diego's mind whirled. A goblin informant? He was too young to join the scouts three years ago, when the Duke organized his soldiers and led them against a goblin encampment in the hills. The soldiers had boasted long and hard about how they wiped out much of the tribe, forcing them back into the caves. Apparently, the Duke had gained some inside knowledge of the tribe before they attacked.
Finally, Irini stood. "Gerard, take Lenk downstairs. Put him in one of the servant's rooms, under guard. We will have much to talk about in the morning." Gerard nodded, and gave his sister a quick hug. Diego moved to help the Duke's son carrying Lenk, but Irini grabbed his arm first. "You have more to talk about with me, now." Diego gulped again, trying to hide his fear. As Gerard stepped out, and down the stairs, Irini waved her hand, and the door reappeared. Without a handle, or any way to open it, Diego noted with fear again.
The scout stood silently, only his exhaustion from bearing the goblin back preventing him from trembling. Irini paid no more attention to him for a moment, walking over to a chest and drawing several candles. She carefully lit them from the brazier, and placed them in a candelabra. Setting it on the floor before her, she sat down, and gestured for Diego to sit also. "Now then, tell me as much as you can remember from when you and Lenk started back towards the castle."
Diego nodded, keeping his gaze low, staring at reflections of fire on silver. "Well, milady ... I had disarmed Lenk, and he begged for me to kill him. It was then I saw the brand on his shoulder, and I thought it looked a lot like the symbol Flynn was standing in when we found his body." Diego shivered, remembering the ghastly scene in the graveyard, and the look on Flynn's face. Then he shivered again, remembering the rumor that Flynn had risen as an undead. "We ... we walked back for a while. I had found him almost through the pass to the north valley, so we had a lot of walking to do." Irini nodded, and Diego took some comfort from the unspoken reassurance.
"We were about halfway back, three miles out or so, when the goblin suddenly screamed, and grabbed at his shoulder. I thought it was a trick, for him to try and escape, so I circled back, trying to see what he was screaming about. He hadn't been shot, milady, and I couldn't see anything around us, not even a spiderweb. Then he toppled forward, unconscious. I still thought it was a trick, so I came up real slowly towards him, and nudged him a little with my sword. When he didn't respond, I rolled him over, with my foot, and his brand was glowing, all bright red like you saw."
Irini put up a hand to stop the scout while she thought. The brand started glowing as they were walking through the forest? That would mean someone had used magic against the goblin, through the brand or a copy of the symbol. She rubbed her own shoulder, trying to think of whom would know how to do something of the sort. The only others in the valley who knew magic were Charmain and Cirra, but their magic was all healing, nothing more arcane. She raised her head to look the scout in the eyes, and repressed a scowl as he shivered in fear.
"Did you sense anything around, even though you could not see danger?"
Diego shivered as she looked into his eyes, her eyes a pale, frosty blue, filled with reflections of candle flames and magical power. Her question caught him by surprise, and he sat for many silent moments, thinking over it. "Milady, I think there might have been. The forest air seemed thick and heavy, and I could tell there was something about, but nothing my eyes or ears could tell me. It felt that way all the way up into the castle, but I don't know if it was real danger or just my fears."
Irini nodded, and lowered her gaze to the candles again. It certainly sounded like someone or something had hexed Lenk through the brand symbol, but how? No goblin shaman would have the power or knowledge to do something like that, and there were no magical practitioners in the valley except for her. The scout had no magical powers, not of that caliber. Flynn could have gotten something from the Necronomicon, except he was dead. Even though his corpse was now missing ... but the undead did not travel about in the daytime.
Irini sighed softly and rose to her feet, Diego quickly scrambling to stand also. "What is your name, scout?"
"Diego, milady." Diego had regained some courage from her quiet acceptance. But he was still nervous, since she did not seem to know what had harmed the goblin either.
Irini smiled at him, and waved her hand towards the door. "Thank you for your help, Diego. If you see anything else that seems strange, or out of place, during your scouting patrols, let my brother or I know. Do you know how to read and write?"
Diego blinked, and tried not to stammer. "N-no, milady, I can barely read a few words."
Irini nodded, and extended her hand to him. "You should learn. A capable young man like yourself should learn everything that he can."
Diego took her hand and bent to kiss the back, thankful that the orange firelight would hide his blushing face. As he started to straighten up, her hand caught his shoulder and pulled him a step closer. "Be careful out there, Diego. Something, or someone, evil is about, and it does not bode well for you, me, or anyone in this valley. I need people I can trust to tell me what goes on, in the hope I can find some way to stop whoever is behind these events." She hesitated, then kissed his cheek and turned him towards the empty doorway.
Irini listened sadly to the scout's footsteps, almost fleeing down the stairs of the tower. Why was it, she mused, that everyone seemed scared of her? Men of her own rank were scared because she practiced the magical arts. Others were doubly scared because she was the daughter of a Duke. With another quiet sigh, she moved over and unshuttered the thin window, staring out at the moon. The only one who was not scared was her brother Gerard!
After several moments of contemplation, she turned from the window, extinguished the brazier, and took the candles to light her way down the stairs to her room.

Kiwin sang again in the tavern that night, like every night. He was glad of his great number of songs, though the crowd always seemed to like a few better than others. It was the third time he sang "The Prince of Shapier" that night. As he sang, he scanned the tavern again. There was that surly dwarf, sitting at a table with a seedy looking man. Kiwin would almost bet money that the man was in the Thief Guild, or what passed for one around here. Then there was that strange northerner, Canaan. Kiwin could feel the almost magical vibrations in his flute, whenever Canaan and his strange silver foot came closer. Several of the soldiers were there in the evening, after or before their watches started. The soldiers were all on edge, after two had been found dead in the middle of a field, their chests torn open, and the heart missing.
Kiwin finished the last verse, and scattered applause greeted the song. Bowing, Kiwin, moved from his place near the fireplace towards the counter for his meal. His flute warned him that Canaan had risen and followed him. The bartender handed Kiwin the meal, a thick lamb stew and a large roll of black bread. Kiwin turned, smiling at the northerner.
Canaan gave the bartender three silvers for a mug of ale, and gestured to a table nearby. They sat down, and waited in silence for several moments, as Kiwin ate much of the stew. Finally, Canaan leaned forward and spoke quietly. "You've got something of magical silver on you." It was a statement, not a question, and Kiwin realized his guess was correct.
The bard nodded, taking another bite of bread. "Maybe I do. Why do you want to know?"
Canaan scowled. "Don't play games with me, bard. I know you've got something of magical silver with you. What is it?" Kiwin glanced two tables down, to the dwarf and his companion, who was trying to listen in over the general conversation.
The bard gestured for the northman to be quiet, and took another bite. "It's a flute." Kiwin barely whispered the words, but Canaan obviously caught every word. "I'm not going to show it to you, not here, because I suspect the dwarf's companion has contacts on the black market."
Canaan looked confused for a moment, until he realized what Kiwin was referring to. A thief! Before he could move from his seat, Kiwin placed a hand on the warrior's arm, and shook his head. Canaan realized the bard was correct, and subsided, taking another drink from his ale. The warrior glanced over as the door opened, and realized from the position of the moon that he needed to get back to the castle. The captains had enlisted him for guard duty on the walls. They needed all the soldiers they could get, with some dying from necromancy, and others ripped apart by beasts in the night. "We'll talk again another night, bard." Canaan drained the last of his ale, and left the mug on the counter as he left.
Two tables down, Higgins stared into the fire. Damn strangers! No sooner did that idiot boy Flynn die, than two strangers show up, the bard and that crippled northman! Those strangers were all at fault for the problems here, whispering evil thoughts into the good townsfolk.
His companion was Jack. Jack had moved to Montoya valley almost ten years ago, fleeing the wrath of the Chief Thief. He almost recognized the bard, but not why. Jack and Kiwin were both studying each other, so Jack leaned forward, and waved his fingers in front of his nose, in a pale imitation of the thief callsign. Kiwin scowled and shook his head. Jack smiled to himself, thinking his guess was correct -- another victim of the Chief's paranoia.
Kiwin used the last of the bread to mop up the bowl, then set the bowl on the counter and returned to his place by the fire to continue singing. Jack watched, his green eyes sparkling. Perhaps he could continue his cutpurse practices, now that he had found a suitable scapegoat.