Bladeshire 22

By David C. Daoust

Khadory would never be sure why he let her do it. She reached her hand out to the ghoul, a weak wounded monstrosity– when exactly the chants started, he could not be sure, but once the creature began to shift, unnaturally, the chanting was all Khadory could hear.

The cowering ghoul transformed from rotting flesh, to intricately carved stone. This was not the first time he had witnessed such an act. This was similar to what he had witnessed with the snail, only this creature did not shift into a staff. It shifted into a statue.

The girl pressed forward and Khadory was fully amazed as the statue began to shrink down, smaller and smaller, until it was a simple figurine. The deed was done before he knew it. She reached down and grabbed it, held it in her hand for a moment, then tossed it to him.

Khadory quickly shifted the extinguished torch into his other hand with his axe and grabbed the figurine out of the air. The horrifying monster, frozen, fit in the palm of his hand. “How?” he asked.

“Magic!” not-Chantilles answered.

“But why? Why not just kill it?” Khadory asked.

The girl’s face twisted in thought trying to come up with a suitable answer to a complex question, “Such creatures… they are bound together. Freeing one gives the rest a bit of slack… No one wants that.”

“Such creatures?”Khadory asked as he tested the weight of the figurine in his hand.

“The undead” she began, “This particular variety share a Domain with Vampire.” She added the next part as though to impress him, “From what I have gleaned, limiting their Domain was paramount to their defeat.”

“Yes, they were defeated,” Khadory felt like he had found a loose thread in her story, “Long ago… Yet you claim the Vampire Lords are your enemy. How can defeated creatures be your enemy, now?”

“They were not defeated,” she answered sharply, with no care that she contradicted her own words. “At least not all of them. The rest fled from your lands… they invaded mine.”

“Your lands?” Khadory asked.

The young girl studied his face as he studied hers. She looked like Chantilles, of course, but what showed in her eyes was different, smarter, wiser maybe… learned. Those eyes clearly Judged him, decided what he should be allowed to know… After a moment she changed the subject. “Come, there is much to do… These old men can be helped. There is no need for any of them to die.”

Khadory’s attention shift to his fellow villagers, the elders lay paralyzed around him. He reacted as though he’d forgotten himself, hurriedly moved to check them again in the brighter light of the snail staff. “Will they come to?”

“The shrew venom should work its way through their systems in a day or so,” not-Chantilles answered. “I can heal them faster, if you are not opposed to magic…”

Khadory was opposed, vehemently. He studied the figurine in his hand. It was trapped, forever cowering, clutching the wound Khadory had put in its chest. Was this horrifying? Or a fitting end? He did not know how he felt about it… The ghoul was no longer a threat to anyone… just a small stone statue. How long could it last? If she used magic on these men… what all could it entail? Would they ever be free? He looked from the figurine to the staff in her hand. A staff which was left behind in the woods. How did the staff get to her hand?

“Summoning one’s staff is a minor spell,” the girl explained when she noticed his gaze. “Wizards cannot cast much more, without some form of Focus.”

Khadory had never heard anyone declare themselves a wizard before. “You’re a wizard?”

“Well, I’m no Archon,” not-Chantilles said as she chose an injured elder at random. “But how else could I have done what I have done.”

Before Khadory could voice a protest, the wizard-in-Chantilles’ body cast another spell, with it the bite mark on the man’s arm began to heal. The man stirred, began to move, though he did not wake up.

“Why did you do that?” Khadory asked sharply.

“I said I could…”

“I didn’t agree,” Khadory was angry. Things were going fast and he did not understand it all.

“He’ll be fine… we can’t carry them all out on our own,” not-Chantilles argued before haughtily pointing out, “You don’t really have servants at your disposal.”

“We have a village,” Khadory seethed, “We can handle this ourselves.”

“Look, he’s fine,” she expressed apologetically. “It’s just simple healing magic— it still works naturally, just a little faster is all.”

“The last time,” Khadory pressed, knowing things did not add up. “You threatened to kill me.”

“You almost had your memories changed,” she corrected. “Look how that worked out.”

Khadory found another loose thread. Last time, she tried to cast him off like a minor nuisance. Simply change his memory, go on about her business. This time, she was cautious, even apologetic. She feared him now. Was she scared? It was probable she did not know what had evicted her, what had lashed out when she tried to cast on him. Which meant she did not know that the invocation was spent… a onetime ward cast on him in his infancy.

“Listen, we don’t have to be enemies,” not-Chantilles began.

No, the demon toyed with his mind; she knew it was happening. Thus, she knows now that whatever evicted her might not be a threat anymore. She did not help until he had proven to be helpless against the demon’s machinations. Still, she did help him. Saved him from madness, or so she claimed. He believed that much was true, he had never felt so confused as when he was whacking helplessly against the darkness. He clutched the figurine in his hand tightly, stone edges digging into his flesh. She is not scared of him, she needs something.

“Who are you? Why are you here? What do you need?” Khadory asked quickly. “Tell me everything… I will help you if I can.”