Montoya Valley, chapter 4

Flynn awoke as the sun's last rays vanished, pulling himself up from the earth of the graveyard. After his body had been discovered missing, the poor gravedigger buried the empty coffin anyway, to keep any rumors and fears from the townsfolk. As such, it made such an excellent resting place for Flynn during the day. The corpse smiled, skin peeling back from his teeth, grown into a full mouth of vicious fangs.
Caine appeared then, stepping out from the shadows near the gate. "Are you ready, Flynn? Tonight will be a wonderful night." The zombie snarled wordlessly at the exiled man. Caine just laughed, a quiet, sinister laugh, and sent a pulse of energy through the brands. Flynn gave a wordless shriek, grabbing at the burning in his neck. Someday, the undead told himself, someday Caine would die.
The man turned to the gates, pushing them open. Flynn rose to his feet again, and started after. They soon came to the edge of the farmlands. The soldiers, after the first two died, had been far more alert and careful on their watch. Flynn and Caine watched, from the shadows of a large boulder, as a pair of them walked down between rows of wheat. An hour passed, as they watched the two soldiers circle the village again.
"This sure is terrible, isn't it?"
"You got it! First that crazy Flynn goes and turns himself into a zombie. Then the captain lets some crippled barbarian in to replace him!"
"If there was any way for me to get out of here, I would. But I can't leave my sister, not when she's expecting her second child."
"Ha! That's all you have to worry about? You must lead an easy life."
Caine and Flynn listened to the soldiers banter about their family life, and the village. Caine glanced at the moon, then started creeping forward. Flynn scowled, his fangs gleaming in the moonlight, and started after. The two crept up behind the soldiers, and at a sudden signal, Caine jumped his chosen target. The strong man simply snapped the soldier's neck, dropping the body to the ground.
Flynn, though, gave in to the other urges of his undead life. He leapt atop the soldier, bearing the screaming man down to the ground. As the soldier reached for his sword, Flynn grabbed his arm, squeezing and popping the bones. The soldier screamed again in pain, and Flynn laughed silently, reveling in the terror and pain. Ducking his head, his fangs sank into the soldier's neck, tearing his windpipe open, blood fountaining out. Flynn reveled in it, the pain, the destruction, and the blood. The man convulsed once more, then lay silently, dead.
Caine rose, and threw the undead off his victim. From the castle, shouts could be heard, and torches coming forth their way, drawn by the screams. Flynn felt the stabbing pain of the brand again, but fought it off, licking blood from his face with his cracked tongue. With another backward glance, they faded into the shadows of the forest.

"What do you think it is, Cirra?" Irini quietly asked her cousin as the healer leaned over the Duke's prone body, inspecting him.
Cirra shook her head. "I... I'm not sure, Irini..." she replied. "I've never seen anything like this before..." Irini's heart sank. Even Cirra could do nothing against whatever afflicted her father! Then all hope was lost. "The only thing I can think of," Cirra said, turning to her younger cousin, "is that whatever is this is a magical affliction. Something is magically causing this debilitating disease... something powerful." It was as she expected.
"Do you know of any warding rituals that might help him at all?" Irini inquired.
Cirra nodded slowly. "I have a few that might slow whatever it is... but whoever is doing this must be a skilled channeler... and a skilled Necromancer. Hopefully I'll be able to -- aah!"
Cirra gasped in pain and clutched at her left shoulder. "Cirra! Cirra what is it!" Then Irini saw -- a rune, on Cirra's left shoulder, burning through the fabric of her tunic. "What... Cirra, what..." The rune was the six-pointed star, inside a circle. Cirra gritted her teeth against the pain and made a series of gestures.
The intense glowing of the rune died down, leaving her skin charred through the hole burned in the tunic. "That... that was it..." Cirra panted. "Only one person would be able to break through my protective barriers like that." Irini grasped her cousin's arms and stared into her eyes. Cirra only nodded, an affirmative to Irini's unasked question.
"Your father has returned," said Irini, trembling.

Higgins' leg was feeling much better after the few days of recuperation. Besides, he thought to himself, a walk in the forest never hurt anyone. And if those wimpy goblins do try anything... Higgins grinned and hefted his axe, then strapped it to his belt. He had some thinking to do. Thinking about what to do about the source of all the troubles... those two strangers. What were their names... Kiwin Farwalker, that thief who disguised himself so poorly as a bard. That Farwalker had probably been stealing from the barkeep, from his friend!
Higgins couldn't believe how Farwalker was allowed to sleep there, with everything just laying out, just waiting to be stolen by that mongrel. And who was the other one? The large one who said he was from the north. Canaan Cecht, that was it. The cripple. Higgins didn't know what he wanted, but he was sure he was trouble. He had seen him and Farwalker at the table the other night.
They were probably in league together, plotting to rob everyone in the town blind and make off with it. And yet, with everything so apparent, Higgins wondered angrily, why didn't anyone see all this but him! Higgins slammed his axe halfway through a tree in rage. Snorting, he yanked it out and restrapped it to his belt, then continued along his walk.
Behind the tree, in the deep bushy shadows where sunlight did not reach, Caine peered out at the dwarf and smiled. This one would serve as the perfect informant. And he had enough hate in him to serve Caine's purpose in other ways, if needed. Caine chuckled to himself, and withdrew back into the shadows.

Gerard flew into the air, did a triple kick, and landed on one hand. He sprang off of that hand, backflipped, and landed on his feet. Slowly, he opened his eyes, panting for breath. He wiped his forearm across his forehead, trying to wipe off some of the sweat from his meditation exercise. Once again, he glanced at the book on his desk, the one regarding the past of the region of and neighboring Montoya Castle. So far he had not found anything he had not already known, but he was only about one-hundred pages into it, out of what must have been nearly a thousand.
This area, Gerard thought to himself as he strolled over to the window to let some fresh air in, must have had either a long or very eventful past. Or both, Gerard noted, opening the window. A fresh breeze blew through his room, the cool forest air. Gerard changed out of his sweaty outfit and headed over to his desk to continue the book. Out of nowhere, a fierce wind whipped through the room, scattering papers from his desk and flinging them throughout the room. Gerard muttered an oath and got up, shut the window, and collected the papers that had been blown over the room.
He put them back on his desk and looked back down at the book, only to find that the wind had flipped the pages far forward from where Gerard was. Gerard sighed and was about to try to find where he had been, when something caught his eye, a name. Of a sword. Pureflame. Gerard read on. Pureflame, it seemed, was a Paladin sword, wielded by many great Paladins of the land ages ago. The history of Pureflame dated up until a little under a century ago, when, according to the book, it was lost during a great Civil War.
Gerard sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. Pureflame, a Paladin sword. If someone was able to retrieve that sword... would they be able to combat whatever it was that was afflicting the land? Gerard quickly rose and set off to search for more about what could be, Gerard thought, perhaps the only thing that could save them.

Diego lay amid the fragrant flowers and green grass in Erana's Garden, under the giant tree, and gazed up at the night sky. Part of him shied away from the thought of another sleep filled with nightmares, but another part of him told him that there was no other choice. Sleep in his quarters now no longer felt like sleep at all -- his nights were empty, dreamless, restless. At least here he managed to feel rested when he awoke. Diego closed his eyes. "Erana," Diego murmured softly, "or whoever it is that is showing me these things, please... please tell me what is happening... and what I can do about it." Diego took a deep breath, inhaling the sleepy scent of the flowers, the earthy smell of the grass, and soon was asleep. And again, that night, Diego dreamed...

In a secluded corner of the stone-and-thatch militia house, two men leaned over a table, the only illumination a small candle.
Kiwin leaned over, and spoke in a conspiratory tone. "So, the silver," he said quietly, "Tell me the secret." Kiwin licked his lips and grinned, anticipating the knowledge. He knew the last few months had been worth it. After all, he reasoned, he was going straight now. This flute served as something of a grand finale for his career of larceny. It was only fair.
Canaan grunted and gave a wry smile. "The silver has two bases of enchantment," he explained. "The silver is like your life. Its power is based on what you make of it, and what you think about it."
Pausing for a moment to check for outsiders, he began to speak again.
"I don't know why I'm telling you- You're a southerner.. and the knowledge of the silver is what causes war in my home." His words were bitter as he spoke. "In my case, the silver was made into a replacement for my foot. It can smash anything I strike with it by the light of the moon. This represents my hatred towards the dark, towards the war that has ruined my people so."
Kiwin nodded. "Listen, let's get out of here, huh? Two strangers conferring alone doesn't look good, even if we're not doing anything wrong." Canaan nodded his agreement, and the two slipped out of the old building and back to their patrols...

Irini sat in the silence of her chambers. In the quiet, she channeled and focused her magic. Let it course through her body and soul, filling her with renewed energy. She startled at a knock on the door. Slowly she rose and opened the door, revealing the sight of her cousin. She carried a thick, brown saddle-bag and wore a plain dress of white fabric. Around her neck hung a beautifully crafted ankh, the symbol of healing and goodness.
"Cirra, what's wrong?" she asked earnestly.
Cirra walked quickly inside and motioned for Irini to shut the door. She put her fingers to her lips in an expression of silence. Cirra pulled from her bag a large dusty book with cracked bindings and a leather pouch. She kneeled down in the center of the room and opened the book. The pages were worn and the faded writings depicted complex, inter-connected runes.
She laid the book on the floor and opened the pouch. She carefully withdrew a handful of what seemed to be powdered silver. With the powder, she slowly traced a pentagram within a circle.
Cirra finally looked up.
"Irini, the time has come for you to embrace your destiny. Your magic skills are powerful, but they are not enough to face the evil of my father's might." Irini kneeled before Cirra, listening closely to her words. "My father spent years studying the arts of necromancy and learned from the best sorcerers. His power is great, but yours can be greater. You are destined to follow in the path of Erana. Your strength shall heal the world and bring peace, but only if your will is strong."
"But, how Cirra?" Irini cried out. "How can I fight his evil? It is unnatural and destructive. My power heals and nurtures. I do not have the knowledge to confront him." Cirra hushed her hysterics.
"You will, child. You shall learn from the greatest mage that has ever lived. Erana herself." Irini gasped.
"But, Erana's dead."
"I know child, but you shall cast your soul into the spirit realm and find her." Cirra motioned for Irini to come closer. She picked up the book and held it before her. "Read from these pages and cast the magic it contains. I will guide you and anchor your spirit to this plane. You must trust in me child, I am your only link back to the physical world. Believe in me and listen to my words or you could end up lost in the spirit world, forever." Cirra's words chilled Irini to the bone, but she steeled herself for the task. She knew that she held a great destiny and now came the moment to accept her fate.
She looked down at the words in the book and her mind swirled within the patterns. She bent her will to order the chaos, but the rune's eluded her understanding. She focussed and slowly the words came to her mind. She opened her mouth and echoed the magic on the page.
"Sirivas duemor quool. Irisva tith-vortha.
Maek-la veor deena, shivas thell kae-la"
Cirra whispered beside her, "I call upon the spirits of those who hath gone from this world. Open the gates to your beautiful realm."
Irini sang the words in her mind, embracing the power that filled her.
"Maek-la beetano veor wiskon or Eraka"
"I beseech the wisdom of Erana".
She could sense the answer to her mystic call and she knew the spirits were listening to her. All around her body, she could feel the world falling away from her. She was lifted up and she looked down and could she herself. Her body lay in a heap on the floor, Cirra was fluttering about her. Cirra looked up and Irini knew that Cirra could see her. Slowly she rose into the air, the world falling away from her gaze. Irini looked at her hands and saw incandescent energy instead of fingers. She looked at herself and saw a pattern of energy instead of her own image.
This was her real self, she thought. But she knew that all energy could be reshaped by those with the gift of shaping. She focussed with her mind and molded her pattern in a semblance of her physical being. She saw stretching out from her a strand of energy reaching back to her world. This was her link back, she mused. She looked ahead of her and saw nothing but blackness. She continued to float higher, unable to calculate the passing time without a form of reference.
Soon she noticed a speck of light in the distance. It was piercingly bright and the closer she got, the bigger it became. Soon the light was blinding and she shielded her vision from its painful rays as she hurtled straight into it. Then, she felt herself stop. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up. Before her stood a radiant being. A regal woman with a beaming smile gazed down upon her. She was robed in a dress of emerald light that radiated around her. Irini could sense the sheer power from this woman and she knew whom she stood before.
"Hello Irini," the woman said. Her voice seeming to sing. "I am Erana."

Caine smiled. The sun was bright overhead, but all around him the forest was quiet. Silent from fear, as the animals could sense the powerful evil that Caine carried on him like armor. The exile drew his dagger with his right hand, holding the palm of his left flat in front of him. Drawn roughly on his palm was that mystical symbol, a six pointed star inside a circle. Caine pulled his willpower around him, and focused his thoughts on the castle, somewhere in the forest before him. Caine could feel four people in the castle with the symbol. One was the goblin he had tried to kill. Two more were similar somehow, but he did not know them. The fourth was weak, barely holding onto life. His brother, of course. Caine sharpened his thoughts like a sword, and sent them stabbing forth towards his sick and dying brother. His brother would resist, he knew, and the distance alone would keep the Duke alive.
So Caine stabbed the tip into his palm, tracing over the lines he had drawn, pulling the blood and the pain into the link. Caine felt his brother waver as the circle completed. Lines of blood spilled down the side of his palm, dripping into the forest floor at his feet. Caine grinned, a hideous death-head grimace, and continued. Three points, then four, five. The Duke put a final burst of energy into their fight, and Caine's dagger slowed, almost trembling despite the man's powerful concentration. With obvious effort, he pushed the dagger forward, closing the sixth point of the star, and thrusting forth again with his mind.
Caine savored his brother's death scream, brought to him through the mental link in the last moment before it broke. The exile smiled again, turning his hand and spilling more blood onto the thirsty dirt below. He knew, if they examined the body closely, they would find the arcane symbol etched into the Duke's heart, the only physical traces of his spell. Of course, that would mean basically despoiling the Duke's body, something never allowed for a nobleman's burial.

Gerard was in the hallway when he heard his father's scream. He turned, running back down the hall, and burst into the room, almost knocking down Charmain. The Duke, his father, was lying very still on his bed. It took Gerard a few moments to realize exactly what that meant. His father was dead.
He, Gerard, was now the Duke Montoya.
Gerard took several steadying breaths. "Charmain, please start the preparations for my father's burial. I need to go inform my sister of our father's death." The healer nodded sadly, and took two nervous steps forward, to close the late Duke's sightless eyes. Gerard turned and walked from the room, trying hard to hold back his tears and put on a brave face. It appeared finding the paladin sword would have to wait.

Lenk jerked awake suddenly. He didn't recognize the room at all. Last thing he remembered was walking through the forest, with the scout's sword at his back, when suddenly the pain started ... Lenk shivered, and carefully stood up from the simple cot. The room was fairly small, with four cots and two simple chests taking up most of the space. A single door led out of the room, but Lenk had no doubts that it was guarded, probably heavily.
Lenk shivered again, and rubbed his shoulder. It tingled, still not quite awake. For several moments, Lenk stood there in the room, blinking with exhaustion and confusion. Then he realized the true reason his shoulder was tingling. Someone had used magic through the symbol recently. Very evil magic, from the feel of it. The goblin had no idea what was going on here, but somehow knew that the strange man in the forest was behind it all.

Diego watched silently from behind a large tree as the orc and the goblin battled each other. The orc had managed to wound a deer with its spear, but the goblin showed up before the orc could finish the job. Now the two battled over the food source. The deer had long since run off, of course, but the two monsters battled still. Though the orc was larger and stronger, the goblin's surprise attack had probably broken the orc's kneecap.
Diego was more than content to sit back and wait to see who won. After all, there would be no one to contest him claiming both kills for himself. He looked down at the grass, and carefully pulled a fist sized rock loose with the toe of his boot. Staying hidden behind the tree, he bent down and picked it up, tossing it loosely in his hand to shake the last of the dirt loose. He heard a cry of triumph and peeked out, to see the goblin smash his heavy club down on the orc's head for the third time. Diego smiled, took a different grip on the rock, and stepped out from behind the tree. The goblin stared dumbly at the scout, then jumped over the lifeless body and ran towards him. Diego pulled back his arm, and threw the rock with most of his strength. The goblin tried to duck, but the rock still skipped off the top of its skull. As it lay on the ground, dazed and wondering why it was looking at the dirt, Diego calmly walked over and stabbed his sword into the goblin's heart.
With a soldier's cool air, he searched both the bodies, staying clear of as much blood as he could. Diego looked down at the loot from the two, counting up seventeen silvers and one gold piece. Not a bad sum for only two monsters, he thought. Unfortunately, while the deer had escaped, it was injured and bleeding. It couldn't be too long before another monster managed to bring it down. Diego sighed heavily. All the extra monsters, fleeing from the northern valley, had managed to kill at least half the deer in the forest. He didn't think Gerard would be very happy about the new reports coming in on the loss of all the deer.
Diego glanced up at the sun. Just after noontime, he thought. The perfect time to report back to the castle for a meal and to report his kills. The scout pried the dagger from the orc's lifeless fingers, and cut off the ears of both monsters. Physical proof was necessary for the kills, after all.

Caine closed his eyes, blood still dripping from his palm, and scanned the castle once more. The goblin was awake, and apparently had realized what was going on. The other two were still behind their magical shields, barely recognizable to his scan. Of the Duke, there was no sign at all.
Then suddenly, something slammed into Caine. A sharp object hit the side of his head as he fell heavily to the ground, caught off guard. He hit the ground heavily, and felt a hoof slip off his armor as something went trampling over and past him. Caine managed to look up to see a deer fleeing blindly, the broken part of a spear sticking out from its side. Caine groaned, and carefully pushed himself to his feet. He had a broken rib or two for sure, and he could barely think through the pain in his head.
The exile took several minutes, breathing heavily on hands and knees, before finally crawling towards the closest tree. He managed to turn and place his back against it. Blood dripped down into his ear, but Caine barely noticed it. With a silent curse towards his now-dead brother, he fainted.

Irini had never felt so loved and secure, so at peace, in all her life. She knew that Erana wasn't really speaking, but there was no way to put into words the communication they were using. Concepts and ideas flashed back and forth between them, new spells and old ones brought to mind and stored somewhere within her memory. Irini would need a lot more time when she awoke to sort them all out, but it would be all right.
In the room, Cirra sat on the floor, watching Irini's still form. Her spirit was off somewhere, communing with Erana. Or so she hoped, since talking to the dead was scarcely an exact magic field. But hopefully, everything would work out well. Erana had not been dead for long, after all, only a few seasons ago, dying peacefully of old age in Silmaria, in the arms of her love, the king. Cirra jumped, startled, at a knock. "Who's there?"
It took a moment for the person to answer. "Cirra, it's me, Gerard. Is Irini there? I need to talk to her. Urgently."
Cirra paused, uncertain. She stood, and walked over to the wooden slab. "I don't know how to open the door, Gerard. Irini is busy .. learning some new magical spells."
Cirra barely caught the next words, just enough to know that it was a curse. "Cirra, damn it, can't you do anything to let me in?"
"Not without destroying the door, Gerard. And I don't think I even want to try that."
There was another long pause, and Cirra glanced back towards Irini's still form. The silver thread, only barely visible to her magically enhanced sight, still glowed healthy. "My father is dead, Cirra. I'm the Duke now."
From somewhere outside the envelope of love and caring, Irini heard those words. "My father is dead." With a sob of fear and grief, she fell, back towards reality and her body. Behind her, she faintly heard Erana cry something after her, but it was lost in the rushing of an ethereal wind as Irini settled back into her body. She burst awake, bounding up from where she sat, and ran into the door, which vanished before her. Gerard staggered, barely keeping himself from falling backwards and catching his sister.
Gerard and Cirra spent several minutes there, at the doorway, before Irini finally calmed down. Gerard felt guilty, but he had to leave his sister there, in her grief, while he completed the plans for his father's funeral, and continued his work to keep the valley safe.
Behind Gerard's calm image was a mounting well of anger. This, he knew, was the opening of an undeclared war. Someone had killed his father, through evil and arcane means. Gerard was going to find out who, and why. And then, he'd tear them apart, with any weapon he could grab, and post their head on a pike at the castle gate. No one killed a Montoya and lived to brag about it.
At least, not for very long.

Kiwin sat in the empty tavern. At just after noon, it was empty. With no customers around, the bartender was in the kitchen, most likely fondling his single waitress. Kiwin just stared into the empty fireplace, and thought about what Canaan had told him.
The silver is supposed to reveal your own inner desires? But his flute .. whose desires would it reveal then? The man who made it, the rich nobleman it had been stolen from? The Chief who kept it in his collection? Or his own?
The bard scowled at the bare stones. For all he knew, this was all just intended to keep him off balance. Revealing your inner desires? Bah! Magic like that was for songs and stories, where the heroes were larger than life and the villains always lost. Like that foolish song about the Prince of Shapier. If half the events in that song were true, he'd eat his flute. No one could turn Baba Yaga into a frog and get away with it!
The bard looked up as the door to the tavern opened. In strode the dwarf, in a grumpy mood as always. Inwardly, Kiwin sighed, but said, "Good day, fair dwarf! Would you like a song to liven your meal?"
Predictably, Higgins stomped over to look the bard in the eyes. "Bah! Ye wouldn't be knowin a true song iffin it jumped up and bit ye on the arse! And don't ye be thinkin ye can be gettin away with anythin in this town! It's me home, ye hear me boy? Ye try anythin and I'll be itchin to take ye and string ye up by yer toes on the castle gate! I know what yer kind is like!" Gruff and surly as always, Kiwin thought gloomily. The bartender had emerged from the kitchen at last, smirking at Higgins' outburst.
Kiwin turned to stare into the empty fireplace again. It wasn't much, he knew, but at least he was finally in charge of his own destiny. No Chief to order him around, no aristocrats to talk as though he wasn't there to hear, as though they were the ones with the real musical talent. Free to make his own decisions. Somehow, it wasn't all he thought it would be.