《Thy Maker》I. In Search of the Pious

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Golden blades of wheat shone in the sunlight, dancing to the music of the wind's gentle breath. There was no death here. No fallow fields swallowed the corpses of lost travellers, no feral creatures molested flesh with fang...nothing but the peaceful yellow ocean.

Up ahead on the road stood a single oak tree, unmoving in the weak breeze. Its leaves twinkled in Alric's eyes as he approached upon his steed.

The lone oak surely passed him by, and the dirt path cut a clean line forward into the distance, where a small settlement puffed smoke into the air from a collective of chimneys. Alric spotted the fuzzy figures of several townspeople standing in the centre of the track, watching his slow approach. He only hoped that he was not too late.

The village was small, only consisting of seven structures in total. On the edge of town was a simple sign reading 'Oak'. The place was a rural settlement founded recently, only several decades ago. It seemed that the founder cared not for fanciful or meaningful names, so looked to the nearest object for inspiration; the only tree standing in the flaxen fields, a long way from the forests in the distance.

Alric beheld the enticing aroma of fresh breads baking in an oven, topped with the sweet smell of honey. As he came closer, he saw that the figures were two children standing in awe as he rode by.

"Wow 'e 'as a sword... Is 'e a bandit?" a little boy gasped.

"Oi, if 'e was a bandit, 'e woulda killeded us already ya dumby," his older sister scolded.

Alric urged Nocht to halt beside the children, and he gazed at them with his helmeted head. "Good day to thee, children." He said grizzly.

The children froze.

"I seek the town master." The knight said.

The little boy stared in awe, and firmly squeezed his sister's hand. The girl's eyes were drawn to the great black horse before she answered, "Guld's 'ouse is tha red one, down tha way," with an enthusiastic point down the road.

Alric managed a dry huff of a chuckle, before plucking several pieces from his coin purse and tossing them to the children. "God smiles upon thy kindness. Take alms."

Eyes beaming, the two children scrambled for the gold. "Best thee share it." Alric paternally advised, watching the excitement ooze from their wild motions.

The sister evenly split the coins and sent her eyes up to Alric, who towered over them on his mount. "Thank you, milord, me promise we will!"

The knight tapped his heels on his horse's side and was carried forward by its casual trot. The small wagon she pulled, filled with rations and travel supplies, creaked and squealed with every metre traced. The smell of bread seized his mind once more as he passed the tavern. A wooden sign hung from the front of the place, rocking in the wind. It read 'The Lonely Tree'. It'd been quite some time since he'd had a meal...perhaps he could take a moment after speaking with Guld to relieve himself of the hunger that currently held him prisoner.

He felt the curious eyes of other townsfolk peering out from their homes as he dismounted Nocht and hitched her lead onto a post in front of the tavern. The brisk walk Alric made to Guld's home spoke of the urgency of his visit.

The town master's home was modest and cosy, no larger than the other cottages in the village. Its roof was made of packed straw and wooden struts, whilst the walls were wattle and daub stroked red. Alric knocked his armoured fist onto the door five times, and stepped backwards, gazing at his surroundings once more. The two children had instantly bolted to the tavern, to purchase some sweets no doubt. After a short delay, the door was pulled open by a short and small old man.

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"Oh...Brother Alric, please, do come in." he greeted wearily, shuffling backwards to present Alric with adequate room to enter.

The knight politely eased himself into the small cottage, as Guld pressed the door shut. The home was spacious and host to a warm fireplace. The embers crackled softly as Alric investigated the man's belongings. There was a large bookshelf in the rear corner, holding dozens of texts in dozens of languages. "A scholarly man has his fingers outstretched towards the heavens," Alric declared.

Guld stumbled over from the door, at first not understanding the odd remark. "Please, you humble me. Those are but dusty tomes; I believe that we have more urgent matters to attend to," Guld said, lowering himself into a wooden armchair.

Alric, agreeing with the old man's words, turned to face him. "Word carried by the trade winds speak of worrying things."

Guld's bright purple eyes flickered momentarily as he glanced back at the door to ensure that it was shut. "Yes...it is quite worrying. Ayla and Jin, the lovely children playing in the road, have lost their mother. The father left long ago, for only God knows where."

Alric frowned beneath his helm.

Guld went on. "The lady Sara was the first, and the woodsman's boy Havar was the last. Two of a small village is a large lot. And curiously, they were both taken whilst visiting the old shrine."

Arms crossed, Alric responded, "Where be this holy icon?"

"South across the fields, in the wood. I am afraid that bandits may have targeted poor pilgrims going to that godforsaken place."

"The wrath of God waits for no sinner, least of all those who see opportunity in harming the pious," Alric said lowly, turning to the door.

Guld shook his scarred head in objection. "What is a few minutes more for a meal? The ride from the coast is not a ride to be taken lightly. Gren produces the finest breads in all the land."

The travelling knight sighed heavily. He wanted to find the answers to this question as soon as possible, but he hungered...perhaps eating would be a good idea.

In light of his apparent hesitation, Guld pressed the issue. "God rewards faith not in person, Brother Alric, but through the acts of others. Now please, go."

Alric left Guld's home, taking the time to comfort Nocht as she huffed furiously at his approach and failure to mount. As he stroked the body of the horse, he noticed a woman sweeping the front awning of the tavern.

She had gleaming yellow eyes and a glossy red skin-shell. Loosely draping her slender body was a thin ragged dress, suitable for the type of lady that engaged in frequent work. Its rim hung low on her chest. "That's a pretteh horse yar got thar," she chirped, not pausing her cleaning.

Alric continued to soothe his companion as he engaged in conversation with the girl. "That she is. What be thy name?"

"Gren, milord."

"The cook."

"Aye. Lissen, we don't exactleh get maneh travellers down this way. Certainleh don' remembeh seein' a knight 'round 'ere before. Ya gonna tell me yer name?"

"Alric, knight from the Order of Saint Thestus."

Gren laughed, finally stopping with the sweeping and leaning upon the broom mischievously. "Ah, a man of God. Are ya here ta make sure I haven't been sinful?"

"I have no doubt that thou hast been on thy best behaviour, my lady."

She seemed to squint suspiciously when the words reached her. "...'Ladeh'...raight."

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Alric gave Nocht one final pat then approached, stepping onto the awning. He bowed his head shallowly to the stunned woman.

Gren snorted. "Definiteleh a church knight. No question thar.”

Alric nodded towards the tavern, rattling his coin purse in the air. "I seek some food, if thou shalt be so kind."

"In ya get, we got plenteh of food an' drink," she muttered, strolling inside and motioning for Alric to do the same.

As the attractive barkeep trailed through the doorway, Alric followed closely, his eyes falling upon a large main room laden with tables and chairs. At one of these tables were the two children Ayla and Jin, scoffing down a pair of iced cakes. The far corner masked a table in shadow, in which a sorrowful man sat and drank his trouble away.

"Look sissy, tha knight man's 'ere!" little Jin whispered far too loudly.

Gren gracefully glided over to a table by the counter and kitchen area, eyes glowing. "Would yar laike ta take that plate off? I'm sure it's mighteh heaveh."

Alric was surprised that she even asked such a question. Perhaps she wasn't familiar with the Order's practises. "I...cannot, my lady." He answered, as if it were obvious.

Her eyes flickered for a moment. "Raight-oh, suit yerself."

Alric nodded silently at her, then she spun and drifted off to the kitchen. The knight planted himself into the seat that clearly wasn't meant for armoured men and removed his bascinet.

He'd grown used to the uncomfortable way the full helm held his face; now that it was absent, Alric felt strange. Vulnerable.

To prepare for his meal, the knight also pulled off his gauntlets and set them neatly on the left-hand side of the table.

As time passed, Alric watched with joy as the two children chased each other around the tavern. Their play seemed to light up the gloomy place.

Gren promptly returned with a plate holding a peppered and glazed ham, served with slices of fresh brown bread. In her other hand was a tankard of mead and wedged in between her arm and her body was a bowl of clean water.

Alric's mouth dropped agape, bewildered by the lavishly cooked meal.

Gren giggled, placing the food as well and the bowl of water in front of Alric as she said, "I dunno what happens where you com from, but kaindness is returned out here."

Alric's eyes fell onto the mead, something he knew he wouldn't drink. Gren slipped herself into the chair facing the weary knight, gazing at his eyes. "Tha children told me. That was awful nice of ya. This is on tha house."

Gren's smile softened as she caught the look of guilt on Alric's face and answered by rolling her eyes. "...Think nothin' of it. I insist. Don't make meh shuv it all down yer throat."

Alric sniffed the piping hot meat and took in the smell of the herbs used to marinate the succulent cut. The ham was warm grey in colour and lined with fibrous texture. "It smells delicious. I am afraid I cannot drink the mead, my lady."

The woman instantly grabbed the vessel of mead and dragged it to her side. "I understand, Brother Alric. Not a problem. I'm glad someone's 'ere to find out what happened." She glanced over her shoulder at the stranger in the corner. "That's Ulvor...tha woodsman. His son's been missin' fer a while now...not as long as Sara."

"Mother of the young ones."

"Aye...poor things. I've been helpin' with them, but I ain't cut out ta be a mother. They need her." Gren sighed, taking a long swig of mead.

Alric dipped both hands into the bowl of water and washed them clean before carefully patting them off with the supplied cloth.

Using the table knife, the weary traveller cut into the slab of meat and fed on it, periodically taking bites of bread to break up the salty flavour. For his empty stomach, it was delectable. Gren lovingly watched the man eat, in awe of his hunger and of his manners.

The food quickly vanished, and Alric was left very satisfied. "I best depart. I shall return with answers of some kind."

The knight made for the wood atop his steed feeling especially well-fed. He left his wagon at the tavern, in the care of Gren. The forest was visible from the village, gently masked by the ghoulish embrace of a mist that had blown in after Alric had reached the town. There was no track to the wood, but the grasses bowed lower in a path towards the trees, due to the frequent trips to the shrine by the villagers. Alric guided Nocht steadily towards this break, and she began following the path on her own.

Clouds in the sky left blotched shadows on the yellow field that consumed almost everything in sight; everything but the lip of a legion of tall, thick trees that stood sentry over the village. They loomed in the distance like giants, cold and unfeeling. Alric watched the dark smears drift across the ground and relished their steady paths.

As man and steed drew closer to the forest, its jagged shadows fell onto them, shielding their eyes from the setting white sun. Brushes of olive grass scraped against Nocht's muscled legs as she trotted through the lip of the grove. Alric continued directing her towards the now barely visible trail of feet.

By the time Alric saw nothing but the forest itself, it was painted orange by the sunset; he had to do as much as he could before dark. Things much more fearsome than he roamed the lands then. He came across a stone pillar etched with religious images. God gifting the greatest gift to mankind, the Son.

The knight tugged on the reins, urging his mount to halt, then vaulted off the beast. His boots slammed into the damp mud like battering rams, splashing the stuff about onto both his armour and Nocht's tensed frame.

Offerings of fruit, gold, and precious stones sat at the base of the holy icon within a frayed straw basket. Alric grimaced. These items would have been a fine prize for bandits, so the fact that they remained un-pilfered was evidence enough to Alric that renegades were not the cause of the disappearances. He knelt by the shrine and clasped his hands together.

In hushed tones, he confessed his anxieties to the Lord regarding how he feared for the lives of the missing...and hoped that the devil's evil played no part in their disappearance. He then begged for the Father's favour before pushing to his feet once again.

With his divine rite complete, he gazed around the immediate area. Wind swept through the leaves, their soft rustling the only sound Alric's ears discerned. He saw nothing.

Leaving his steed, the man wandered away from the icon and deeper into the forest, eyes sweeping the forlorn wood for any sign of life other than his own. Eventually, the lone knight stumbled upon a clearing. Alric could imagine the warm sunlight piercing the veil of shadows that consumed the rest of the wood during daylight, but alas, there was no sunlight to be seen. Amongst the grass were pieces of debris, what appeared to be a snapped signpost.

A pile of corpses stood at the far end of the clearing. Quite uncharacteristically, it didn't reek of spilled blood. There were at least fifteen bodies dumped upon each other.

Alric knelt on the edge of the tree line and squinted at the carnage before him. He was too far away to ascertain how the poor folks perished, but perceived jittery movement near the bodies.

Four diminutive creatures eagerly paced about on four legs and dragged the corpses onto a neat pile. They looked like headless dogs with a single clawed-arm extending from where their missing heads should be. With these singular appendages, they handled the dead as if they were sacks of grain. Their legs scampered beneath them to retain their balance as they heaved the bodies through the dirt.

Alric frowned.

These dog-sized beasts were the skittish valhnid. Being rather small and physically weak, valhnid hoarded corpses like canine vultures. They possessed glands capable of covering their massive stacks of food in a strong film which allowed them to drag the lot back to their den. Usually, they were frightened off easily enough, but with the kingdoms of Tritania and Lacreau at each others' throats for almost a hundred years, the amount of dead seems to have roused their tenacity.

The valhnid sightings grew, as did the number of them in their foraging parties. However, as they are ill-able to protect themselves, they are always accompanied by at least one skeinar. Alric watched as a valhnid began rubbing its mandibles together, slowly producing segments of the translucent sac that would ensnare their game. Each animal would spin but one portion of the net, then seal it together once complete.

Finally, as the knight looked toward the other side of the tree line, he spotted their guardian. The skeinar stood as frozen as the immense columns of ash beside it, tail poised for attack. It resembled a headless bull, only with the tail of a scorpion. Cylindrical in shape and able to spin about in any direction, there was no escaping its sting. It was said that the skeinar could also see through it.

This tail was incredibly dangerous, so much so that folk tales were told of how the skeinar were born of black magic; a belief that Alric knew to be true. Whatever this tail pointed at was liable to combust into smouldering embers without warning. In his experience fighting heretics, only a witch armed with a black magic staff could achieve similar results.

Alric wasn't eager to battle the scavengers alone, but this pack was incredibly close to Oak. The valhnid could easily chase down the peasants and bludgeon them to death. For more troublesome quarry, the skeinar could detonate them into black ribbons of matter without much effort at all.

The Fourth Attestation decreed that all holy knights of the Order of Saint Thestus must not refuse assistance to any God-worshipping man or woman in need. The folk in the township of Oak had become those in need, as this pack would surely pose them threat in time. To refuse would be to commit a high form of heresy and be paid in kind with execution.

As slowly and cautiously as he could, Alric lowered his helmet’s visor and slunk behind the first line of trees. He kept his arms bent and his knees as straight as possible to prevent his plate armour from clanking against itself; as long as he intently focused on moving this way, he would be completely silent. The skeinar could see any person in the pitch black of darkness. It is said that they can sense the heat permeating from within one's body. Much to Alric's advantage, the armour that cursed him with a loud gait helped to mask this body heat.

He slowly crept forth, working his way around to the skeinar as the valhnid continued spinning their sac. He heard only the whirring of the valhnid's legs as all four of them circled the mass of bodies in order to wrap it securely.

Every step he took filled his heart with dread. He had seen people blown apart by skeinar, been showered by insides and blood as compatriots popped like balloons beside him.

As he closed in on the robust skeinar, he began to hear the constant rumbling of its insides. It remained completely still. The black bars of wood scrolled by Alric's already impeded vision; all he could see of the outside world with his helm upon his head was a narrow horizontal line immediately ahead of him.

He gripped the base of a sheath fixed to the left side of his belt, then wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the handle of the blade that rested within. Alric had found that his rondel dagger served exquisitely against the gaps in the chitinous armour of the foragers.

The grass swayed, following the cadence of the foliage above. Alric's surcoat was brushed by the same wind. All the while, the tailed behemoth did not shift, not even slightly. Its tail slowly swept over the defenceless valhnid, like the eyes of a wary cattle farmer over his herd.

Against all the sense within him, Alric emerged from his cover behind a stalwart tree and approached the skeinar as he unsheathed his rondel dagger. The weapon's blade was long and tapered down to a tiny point which made it exceptional at piercing mail, gambeson and tendon alike.

Contrary to what many would believe, a knight in plate armour was not doomed to move at the pace of a turtle. Alric leapt at the skeinar while its tail was pointed away from his direction. As soon as he took this action, his armour rattled like a chime.

Before he reached the beast, its tail twirled around in lieu of the loud banging of metal against metal that signalled Alric's stride. A blinding burst of sparks consumed the knight's vision as a burst of starlight erupted from the tail. He fought back the crippling fear of death as he lurched sideways at almost too late an interval.

Searing heat washed across his body and the resulting explosion of an ash tree behind the knight caused his helmet to reverberate like a struck bell.

A fraction of a second passed and Alric's sight returned to him. Fighting the disorientation, he slammed into the skeinar's side and slid his dagger into the small gap near its hind leg's shoulder.

As the blade pierced the soft matter protecting the skeinar's joints, strings of iridescent black fluid pulsed outward from the wound. Pushing with every ounce of force he could muster, Alric wrenched and twisted the weapon to maximise internal damage.

The skeinar's internal whirling grew louder, and its shoulder began clicking and snapping with every move it made. Its tail furiously rotated back and forth in a desperate attempt to fix upon Alric, who was much too close to be targeted by the dreaded thing.

Alric yanked the dagger back out.

In an uncoordinated stupor, the skeinar, with its leg deeply wounded, lost its footing and tumbled onto its side. The creature's topside was now facing Alric, which meant as did its tail.

Alric's heartbeat hastened. Without any more hesitation, he pressed his body against the stem of the tail, searched for the thick artery upon it, and drew his dagger across the vein. Once again, shimmering paste flowed out from the wound as the tail twitched several times before slamming into the ground, entirely limp.

The skeinar continued struggling to right itself, but Alric knew that it was no longer a threat to him.

When he turned to the pile of bodies, the entire flock of valhnid were already encircled about him.

Alric panted ragged breaths as he pressed his dagger firmly back into its sheath, and grasped the handle of his longsword. He pulled the thing out haphazardly, still exhausted from downing the skeinar.

The aggressive gesture caused the valhnid to startle and scamper backward several steps, but following a few seconds to assess the situation, they slowly and surely began pacing forth once more.

The knight held his longsword at the ready, backing away. He needed to assert his dominance; the skittish vultures may choose to flee.

With immense vigour, Alric snapped forward with his sword, screaming as loud as he could.

No longer certain of their continued safety, the valhnid simply spun on their four legs and scurried away like frightened rats, leaving the disabled skeinar to flail about in the dirt helplessly.

Alric was glad that they hadn't the gall to swarm him. Seeing as he was ill-armed to deal with their chitinous shells and they outnumbered him greatly, the valhnid could have succeeded in overpowering him with sheer mass. Then, once he was toppled, it was only a matter of pulling his helmet off and cracking his skull with a well-aimed strike. They were much more agile than the skeinar, so striking a weak spot with a bladed weapon was much more difficult.

With the immediate danger dealt with, Alric cautiously paced towards the mound of bodies, sword still drawn.

At these steps away, the skeinar's strained groaning was muted and the sizzling of what remained of the ash tree that it had fired its curse upon had outgrown its pained throes.

What Alric initially thought to be a snapped signpost was definitely nothing of the sort once he had a closer look. The bottom end of the thin wooden shaft was still pinned into the dirt. What would've been the upper portion of the pike had fallen into the grass.

Stowing his sword, Alric dropped to one knee and reached for the object. The steel of his gauntleted fingertips scraped against the material and lifted it up out of the tall grass.

Tied to the wooden pole with tattered rope was a human skull, a pair of crows' wings, and a horse's skull.

Dread seeped into Alric's core as his fingers began to shake. The totem felt as if it bled darkness straight into his heart. The lifeless sockets of the human skull stabbed his flickering irises and flooded his every fibre with bubbling fear.

Alric dropped it immediately and pushed to his feet with a start.

When he averted his eyes from the totem, he noted there were at least fifteen bodies wrapped within the translucent film of the valhnid sac. It was incomplete, so Alric could still see through the stuff. A fully-spun reitiari net resembled several centimetres of ice; one could barely make out the details of what it held behind its layers.

The eyes of all the people within were dark. But, upon approaching the stack for further inspection, Alric almost leapt backward in shock.

He inhaled sharply and tightened his lips.

A single pair of radiant blue eyes stared out from behind the sac, static and fixated on Alric's very soul. With haste, Alric once again brandished his dagger.

Kneeling, the knight gripped the film with one hand and carefully slid his dagger down its surface. As the seal was broken, the stench within the net blew forth all at once.

Alric gagged and jerked his head away from the hole, fighting the urge to vomit.

"Are you here to release me?" the trapped man said. His voice was clear, calm, and not at all laced with any sign that he was pinned beneath five corpses. From his speech, Alric could tell that he was well educated. He did not speak like nobility, but he did not butcher the Tritish language the way many of her peasant natives did.

Alric stowed his dagger. "Hold thy tongue," he insisted, placing his hands against the body of a woman that lay atop the man in order to push it off. "Thou shall not die this day."

The man shook his head. "I cannot die. Neither can you. For we were never alive to begin with."

Albeit calm, his tone was wispy, perhaps indicating that he was losing too much blood from an unseen wound.

Before moving the body that trapped the man, Alric paused.

In the face of his hesitation, the man continued his rantings. "We are, all of us, nothing but ore and lightning. Forged servants of the devil, born of his immeasurable cunning."

It became apparent to Alric then and there that the man was a demon worshipper, and those who died here were of like minds. It explained the wretched totem he saw jutting out of the earth. They congregated here to preach apostasy...to denounce God and instead embrace the Devil.

With a sigh, Alric retracted from the pile and rested his hands on his belt. "Sara and Havar. Are these names of any meaning to thee?"

The man finally blinked. "They ran. They escaped."

Alric's brow tightened. The missing...they were demonists.

"We were to be brought to the depths by the scavengers and reborn anew. But you...you staved off our great journey. Surrendered us the honour to be remade." the man continued.

"Thou speak heresy," rebutted the knight. "To stray from the path is to welcome eternal damnation in the fires of Hell."

Eyes burning brighter, the trapped man bared his teeth. "The fires of Hell are salvation. Release me so I may show you the folly of your faith."

Tiring of the blasphemous poison that flowed from the trapped man's mouth, Alric turned on his heels and trod away. All the while, the lunatic's desperate wails escaped him not. All who denounce the Father shall be left behind.

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