Cinders of the Past: The Sword of the Saints

Kurst held his own gaze in his mirror. Saint Maurain, give me the strength to purge the corruption within me. The lash struck the sweaty, bloodstained flesh of Kurst’s back. Saint Kan’ala help keep me true to myself and my siblings in the Saint’s Swords. Again, the lash struck. Saint Ran’thu keep me true to the faith. Blood trickled down Kurst’s back from the strikes. Saint At’amal forgive me for my lack of innocence. A restrained grunt of pain escaped Kurst’s throat. Saint Gal’al look upon my penance with mercy and heal my wounds. Kurst dropped the lash and rose from his knees. He approached the thick, wooden door to his room and knocked.

The door opened. A young girl’s face peered in at him. “Shall I retrieve Saint Gal’al’s mercy for you, brother?”

Pain reverberated through Kurst’s back. Kurst, suffering in silence, nodded. The girl ran off. Kurst returned to the mirror and gazed upon himself. His dark complexion marked the purity of his blood. But he knew his blood was mixed - tainted. “Saints forgive me for my father’s weakness.” He considered taking up the lash again. “And damn my infidel mother for seducing him.”

The door to his room swung open. “By the Saints, Kurst. Purification is one thing but torturing yourself is too much,” It was the voice of the garrison cleanser.

“I have much to purify, Gef’Ar. Why have you come?”

“King Arayas wishes to meet with Marshal Sen’Dol.”

Kurst turned to face the cleanser. He noted the tall, broad frame, the irises of his eyes that were the color of honey, and midnight skin - features of a pure Renaian heritage. Envy swirled in Kurst’s heart like a storm. “Why does this meeting concern me?”

“The marshal, in his wisdom, has requested your presence.”

“Wisdom?”

The young girl returned with a jar filled with a pale, glowing ointment. "Brother, I have brought Saint Gal'al's mercy."

Gef’Ar held out his hand. “Bring it here, girl.”

The girl obeyed and gave the jar to Gef’Ar. “Is there anything else you would have of me, brothers?”

“That is all, sister. Run along now.”

The girl nodded and left the room. Kurst turned his back to the garrison cleanser. Gef’Ar began applying the salve to the wounds gouged into Kurst’s back. Kurst bit his lip, bearing the initial pain and welcoming the soothing chill that replaced it. “You were saying something about the marshal’s wisdom.”

“Oh, yes. He believes you’re the perfect person to help foster positive relations between us and the people of Kaydhen. After all you were born to a Kaydhenian mother and thus share the heritage of both these people and ours.”

Even a halfbreed has a purpose. “When is this meeting?”

“Within the hour. Not soon enough for the pain to subside, but you won’t bleed all over the king’s courtroom.”

“Such a short notice. This isn’t like Sen’Dol.” Kurst winced as Gef’Ar applied salve to a wound that was deeper than the rest.

“Arayas is the one to blame for that. I’m not sure why though,” Gef’Ar finished his work. “In any event. Pray more and flagellate less. Good luck with the king.”

The pair saluted each other before Gef’Ar left. Kurst dressed himself in the white and gold robes given to all warrior priests of the holy knights. He checked himself in the mirror. Five white stars representing the Five Saints decorated Kurst’s chest. He tied his sword belt around his waist. Disdain settled in Kurst as he eyed the sword at his side A shame that I can’t bring my hammer instead of this court showpiece. A quiet, discomforted sigh escaped him as he felt his blood and the salve cause the back of his robe to stick to his back. The words of Kurst’s deceased mentor, Nuun’tenal, echoed from his mouth. “Such a weapon is not for show, but rather for spilling the blood of the unclean.”

Kurst turned on his heels and strode out from his room. He traversed the Amber Hall where the holy knights of the Saint’s Swords made their home in the mountain fortress of High Rook - the seat of Kaydhen’s power. Kurst preferred these hallways, not only because his people resided there but they were also brighter in color and well-lit compared to the rest of the castle. As Kurst left the warmth of the Amber Hall he entered the cool, black stone corridors of the main castle. He passed by Kaydhenian soldiers and members of the King’s Daggers. While they never looked at Kurst, he could feel their ire. There was no love between the Kaydhenians and the holy knights, only a mutual fear held them together. If Crethan wasn’t lying in his report, then the Crimson Tyrant lives. Kurst had considered the benefits of sharing this information and decided it would be best to instead use the Tyrant rather than start a wild manhunt that would span the entire continent. Kurst, at last, came to the royal balcony outside the throne room which provided a pleasant view of Ravenstill city far below. A gentle warmth washed over him as he stepped out into the sunlight to enjoy the view. The city was protected by High Rook and the Rahnkal mountains to the south, and the Anderen Ocean to the east. Kurst’s eyes drifted to a small corner of the city near it’s high, gray walls. While the buildings all looked alike from High Rook, the whorehouse where Kurst had spent his early days had a way of ensnaring his gaze. I’m up here, and you’re down there, wallowing in filth with the heathens.

“Early as usual, Kurst,” Sen’Dol said, his tone was pleasant. “Gef’Ar told me about your flagellation.”

Kurst’s gaze remained fixed on the whorehouse. “Gef’Ar worries too much.”

“You always take it too far before you visit your sister. You need to let her go. If she wishes to be a whore like her mother then let her, she made the wrong choice, and you didn’t.”

“If I have my father’s righteousness then so does my sister. A whore turned holy woman can be of great use to us. A testament that any heathen can better themselves.” Kurst turned and locked eyes with Sen’Dol.

Sen’Dol offered Kurst a small, sympathetic smile. “Your heart is in the right place. But your attachment to your past causes you too much turmoil. The path forward will bring you relief, but you must commit to it.”

“And what is the next step for me on this path?”

Sen’Dol’s expression hardened. “The city of Drubain. It’s a volatile pit, nay, rather a fetid boil that’s ready to burst open.”

A thought prickled at the back of Kurst’s mind. I’ve lost every spy I’ve sent to this city. “What’s in Drubain that needs my presence.”

“What isn’t in the city? The cult of Arnek Relan walks openly in the streets while monsters prowl the city at night, then, there is a witch that has made its home there.” Sen’Dol drew a slow breath and massaged his right temple. “If only we could lead an army to Drubain and deal with this in the proper way. But our enemies would simply blend in with the civilians or hide in every shadowy corner away from sight.”

“How did you come by this information?”

“There is a single member of the King’s Daggers hiding in Drubain. He’s one of the more unsavory members of the Daggers, however he is skilled.”

Kurst stroked his shaven jawline as he considered the pit he was being thrown into. While many Renaians have come to populate this land, they’re still disliked. But in Drubain, I’d be lucky to make it two blocks before being gutted and left in an ally. It’s a wonder there’s still so many left in the city. It won’t just be a simple change of clothes to get in unnoticed. It’s likely that I won’t have many soldiers at my side either and I’ll need some place to operate out of. After a long moment, he spoke, “How many of our brothers will I have to rely on?”

“Five.”

Kurst’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “Only five? I’m to face a city full of dangers with five men and a cutthroat?”

Sen’Dol nodded. “You’re good at getting our enemies to work in our interest, Kurst. If you can tame a werewolf, you can tame the filth in Drubain.”

“Your faith in me is flattering. I’ll make sure not to disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t. But we have a meeting with Arayas. We can speak more later.”

“King Arayas,” Kurst’s words dripped with mockery. “He plays at being king but it’s thanks to us that he has his crown.”

“Yes, he forgets that he is not our equal and that he answers to us. Let us hope he isn’t getting out of order and that this is something serious.”

“I suppose it’s time to hear what the man has to say.” Kurst motioned towards the throne room. “After you, marshal.”

Sen’Dol led the pair to the throne room doors which were made of oak and decorated with polished bronze. Two bronze ravens watched from the faces of the doors like silent sentinels. For a moment Kurst caught their eyes gleam with a strange, pale light. He blinked and the eyes were dull once more. Must have caught the sunlight creeping in from the balcony.

The guards recognized Sen’Dol and opened the doors for the pair. They strode into the massive hall. They were flanked by rows of braziers. Dozens of courtiers turned from their hushed conversations and stared as Kurst and Sen’Dol approached the throne. Kurst gazed upon the king. Middle age had not been kind to the man. His ginger hair was thinning. His rosy cheeks were beginning to swell. A few more years on the throne would see the man turn to rolls of fat. Such was the result of inheriting power without earning it. Had Arayas’ father not been slain in the wake of his ascension then perhaps Arayas would have learned. In truth it was the Tyrant’s sister who murdered Carthen when he hunted the witch in the Mistwood Forest. King Arayas frowned. He appeared to be deep in thought. Arayas turned his furious gaze on the two men as they approached. “Marshal Sen’Dol and the bastard, Kurst.”

Kurst’s eyes narrowed at Arayas’ words, but he made sure to hold his tongue I’m still leagues more than you ever will be, you miserable waste of flesh. He bowed alongside Sen’Dol.

Sen’Dol addressed the king, “Your majesty, what is it that makes you so grim and requires such an urgent meeting?”

“That cursed witch taunts me!” Arayas smashed a pale fist into the arm of his chair. “Elentia Skalmane. The little demon consulting whore.”

A chill had settled in the air. The courtiers had grown silent, their attention now shackled on the conversation between the three men. Kurst cocked his head What could the Crimson Tyrant’s sister want? She couldn’t be working together with her brother. “In what way has she slighted you?” Kurst had discarded courtly manners.

Arayas motioned to his attendant. He was a tall, thin man garbed in a blue and red doublet with pants to match. He held a silver tray whose contents were covered with a heavy wool cloth. The air was thick with everyone’s interest. The attendant grasped the cloth between his fingertips. He turned his gaze to the king. Arayas gave him a curt nod. The attendant withdrew the cloth in one quick motion. Gasps of horror escaped the nosy crowd. Laying on display on the tray was an elderly woman’s severed head. Her grey, unwashed hair was matted with blood. Thick briars jutted out from her eye sockets, nostrils, and mouth.

Kurst blinked. He could not discern the function of such a grotesque offering. “Is this some sort of message, or is it simply some twisted art piece?”

“Perhaps it is a reminder that she is still alive and well,” Sen’Dol mused.

The head shook with a sudden violence. The attendant leapt back, dropping the tray. The head hit the ground with a thud and rolled several feet towards Kurst and Sen’Dol. Kurst watched as the briars slid into the head and disappeared within. He gripped the hilt of his sword, ready to draw his blade and carve apart this twisted creation. Briars curled out from the bottom of the neck like spider legs and found purchase on the stone floor. The head lifted itself up from the ground. Kurst moved forward, drawing his blade. It was merely a showpiece, but it would suffice for a rotting head. As Kurst raised his weapon, the eyes of the head flicked open, black pits stared into Kurst’s soul. A shriek escaped the head’s mouth. Everyone in the room froze. Pain shot through Kurst’s body. He dropped to his knees. Pleased, the head ceased it’s scream. If anyone could still move, they didn’t dare to try.

The head sneered as it looked around the room with eyeless sockets. It spoke to the crowd with the voice of Elentia Skalmane. “Weak. How was a pathetic rabble such as yourselves able to defeat Malpharn and take his kingdom?” The head turned on its makeshift legs. “And you, my dear king. You are a fat, disgusting pig. Your kingdom won’t last half as long as my brothers did.”

Kurst struggled against the spell placed on him. His body shook but otherwise refused to move. Every muscle and every joint in his body began to ache.

The head turned to watch Kurst’s futile efforts. A grim smile stretched across its face. “This one does have some strength in him. How amusing. If only Arayas had the strength to resist me, then I could have had far more fun.”

Kurst’s heart began to pound as panic began to set in. He closed his eyes and prayed to the Five Saints. Saint Maurain give me the strength to protect these people. Saint At’amal give me the strength to break these unnatural bonds.

A mocking laugh escaped the head and echoed in the throne room. “Oh my, this is precious. He’s begun to pray. I can see your connection with those miscreant living gods of yours. It buckles under my power while you are so far from home.”

The spell began to quiver around Kurst. He continued pray for help. Saint Kan’ala please give free me so I that I may protect my allies. Saint Ran’thu allow me to smite this abomination. The magic holding Kurst continued to wane.

The head watched Kurst struggle to his feet. “Let’s make a game of this. Try to reach me before I kill Arayas!”

Saint Gal’al let me purge this disease from the land so that it and its people may heal. The muscles in Kursts legs burned and cramped as he took one painful step after another. His sword grew heavy in his hand. He required both hands to hold it steady. He watched the head crawl onto Arayas’ lap. Brambles crept from the head towards the fat throat of the paralyzed king. Kurst felt the magical bindings release. He stormed forward and struck the head. The blade buried itself into the skull and snapped. The force of the blow sent the head across the room and hurtling into a nearby brazier. The spell began to release on the room as the brambles withered and burned.

The flames whipped and crackled with a wild fervor as their color changed to a dark purple. “You bastard! How dare you ruin my fun. I’ll peel the flesh from your bones for this.”

Kurst would not let the opportunity to leave a lasting impression for the Saint’s Swords on the members of court. “A day will come when we find you, and on that day, I will drive my hammer into your skull and remove your evil from the world in the name of the Five Saints.”

“We shall see if you can keep that promise. Until then, little holy knight.” The purple fire extinguished leaving only a charred skull with a piece of Kurst’s blade stuck inside it.

There was silence in the room. All eyes fell on Kurst. He turned to the king and bowed his head. “I trust that you are unharmed, your majesty.”

Arayas cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his throne. “Thanks to your efforts, holy knight. Please, forgive my previous remark.”

The king apologizing brought a smile to Kurst. “I am what I am. But I graciously accept your apology.”

“As you can see, she has become a threat we can no longer ignore. The next head to be burned must be hers.”

“The Saint’s Swords agree with your assessment,” Sen’Dol said. “We must also remain vigilant for her brother. For if he survived, then I shudder at the thought of what would befall this continent.”

“We will begin making plans regarding Elentia and her forest. My father will be avenged, and we will bring security to my kingdom.”

Sen’Dol and Kurst bowed and left the throne room. The walked in silence for a long while. Sen’Dol led the pair out of the castle and into the city streets below. “The Five Saints favor you Kurst.”

Kurst did not reply.

“Were it not for them hearing your prayer, we all would have died in that room.” Sen’Dol stopped. “Arayas and the rest of the court won’t forget this, and neither will I.”

Doubt grew in Kurst’s mind. There was no answer to my prayers. No help. The Saints had no part in those events. So, what broke that spell? “It was only luck that they heard my prayer. Nothing more.”

Sen’Dol placed a hand on Kurst’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “They count you as one of us, Kurst, and so do I. After today there is no doubt in my mind that I’m sending the right man to Drubain.”

Wanting to change the subject, Kurst asked, “Why did you lead us down to Ravenstill?”

“You wanted to speak with your sister, didn’t you?”

Kurst began to speak but was quickly cut off by Sen’Dol, “There’s no need to deny it. Between your flagellation and how you spoke on the balcony all but confirmed your intentions. You may go. We will speak of Drubain later.”

Grateful, Kurst gave a quick bow and disappeared into the city. His boots met cobblestone with a hurried pace as he pushed his way through the crowded streets. He earned many glares but cared little for the malcontent of lesser men. Though sound and sight were a muffled blur to him there was one sound that drew his attention. The screeching caw of an impressively large raven. Kurst stopped to examine the creature. He found it staring back at him. It challenged him with a shrill cry. Kurst scoffed and continued on his way. The cries did not stop however and to his annoyance followed him all the way to the brothel. He eyed the familiar age-worn sign “The Rusty Trap” scrawled in faded lettering. The raven landed on the sign, still cawing incessantly. Kurst grabbed a small rock to throw at the bird. He noticed how its speckles shined in the light. He scowled as he offered the shiny stone to the bird. To his shock it landed on his arm and inspected the object in his hand. Surrounding people began to stare. The bird took the stone in its beak and flew off.

“I think she likes you.”

Kurst turned to the entrance of the Rusty Trap to find his sister, Kanella, leaning in the doorway. She wore her hair in dreadlocks down to the small of her back. As the custom for any Renaian woman. Her small figure allowed for the coming and going of others, of which there were many. “It pestered me all the way here.”

Kanella giggled. “Just like you’ve come to pester me.” She motioned inside. “Might as well come say ‘hello’ to the rest of the family.”

“They share no blood with me.”

“As if any of your so called ‘siblings’ in that castle do? Quit being such a prick and come inside.” Kanella turned and entered the establishment.

A sigh escaped Kurst as he followed his sister. He was greeted by a woman of nearly fifty years. “Kurst! It’s about time you’ve come back home.”

“Aunt Mirella. It’s good to see you working the front instead of the beds. I hope they’re giving you the respect you deserve now.”

“They are. Mostly, anyway. Not too many men want someone old like me, but I’ve the experience to help run the place now.” She looked Kurst up and down, taking her measure of him. “And look at you in such fine clothes.”

“He’s come to preach again.” Kanella teased.

“There’s no blaming a brother for looking out for his sister in whatever way he thinks can.” Aunt Mirella offered Kurst a warm smile.

Kurst returned the smile, then addressed Kanella, “May we speak in private?”

Kanella rolled her eyes. “We’ll go to my room, so you don’t embarrass yourself in front of everyone.”

The pair traversed the halls of the brothel and came to Kanella’s room. She waved Kurst in and followed him, shutting the door behind her. It was a dark, cramped space with just enough for to stand but barely any room to move. “You really enjoy living like this?”

“I’m sorry it’s not a castle.”

“But you could be living in one. It’s not my fault you refuse to take my offer every time.”

Kanella folded her arms. “Why can’t you accept that I want to live my life and not yours.”

“Our mother’s life,” Kurst countered.

“That’s rich coming from the boy living his father’s life, but at least you’re calling her mother and not ‘that whore’ this time.”

“It’s a better life, Kanella,” Kurst said, ignoring his sister’s jab.

“Ah yes, waking up for prayer and flagellations before breakfast, walking around with a stick up my ass, and looking down on everyone else. It sounds wonderful.”

Kurst fumed. “Better a stick up your ass than whatever diseased prick comes swinging through the door.”

“Half those pricks belong to your so-called brothers.”

Several bangs on the wall shook Kanella’s room. “Would you two kindly shut the fuck up? I’m trying to enjoy myself, not listen your family bullshit!”

Kurst motioned to the wall.

“Oh what?” Kanella asked in a hush tone.

“At least you can get some privacy in the castle.”

“Why do you keep coming back to bother me with this?”

“Why do you let me?”

“Because I know one day you’ll stop coming around because you’ll get yourself killed.” Tears welled in Kanella’s brown eyes.

“I’m not going to-”

“Just like our father!” Kanella slammed her door open. “Leave and think on that.”

Kurst nodded and left. As he stepped out into the street, he had a strange expectation for the raven to be waiting for him, but there was only the city.