Final Rest

While traveling the western plains, I approached the town of Whitewood. From a distance, it looked much larger than when I had last passed this way. Walls had not yet been erected, so it seemed the residents felt confident in their safety.



I had been long on the trail, so I urged Goliath on toward the city’s entrance. The sun was westering to my left when I reached a pair of guards flanking the trail. They did not move to prevent my passage. It occurred to me that posting them accomplished little without walls. Perhaps that plan was being drawn.



I asked where I could find a stable in which to lodge Goliath during my stay. The guard stiffly provided the directions I required. I thanked him for his service and moved on. By following them, I came to a small but clean stables attached to a blacksmith’s forge.



“Hail, Sir Knight!” the smith said as I dismounted. “Fine animal!”



“I thank you for your prompt service and Goliath thanks you for the praise. Where may I find the stable master?”



“I am he,” the stocky bald man replied. A bit taken aback, I made no reply. The smith gave me a polite if gappy smile. “Did you wish to lodge your horse with me?”



Broken out of my surprise, I responded, “Yes, I do. What is your rate?”



“I run a full service stable. Basic service which includes grooming and feeding cost three silver per night. Is this all you required or would you like to have Goliath reshod as well, Sir Knight?”



“What would you charge for such a service, my good man?”



“That service would cost two gold. Since Goliath does not appear to limp, he should be ready to ride by the morrow.”



“You run a fair business, my good man. “ I handed him three gold pieces. “Any amount that remains from that is yours to keep.”



“My thanks again, Sir Knight,” the stable keeper said as he took Goliath’s reigns. He led the stallion to an open stall. “Have you found lodging for yourself?”



“No, I have yet to seek it,” I replied. “Where would you suggest I stay?”



“There are two good inns here in the city, but I think you’ll want Moorhead’s up the road there. They’ll take care of you nicely.”



“Good day to you … and thank you,” I said as I strode toward Moorhead’s Inn.



“Hail Holy Knight, what is thy sacred charge?” the innkeeper asked me upon my entry. This surprised me a bit since the business of lodging had yet to be discussed.



The sacred charge is a mission upon which a Knight of the Hand of Blessed Light is sent when he is inducted into the order. It differs with each knight, thus the question would be answered differently dependent upon whom you ask. Since I had not completed mine as yet, I answered, “I am not at liberty to say. It would seem you have a task for me.”



“Yes I do, Good Sir,” the innkeeper responded. “May I speak to you about it?” The lanky man’s brown eyes showed a deep concern which I might have called urgency.



“Of course you may, but first let us speak of business,” I told him. Though it was mine to determine if his cause was just, I would likely take on his quest. An eerie feeling had come over me when he asked of my charge, a sort of chill. “What price do you ask for a room?”



“Knights of the Hand pass this way rarely, Sir Knight. It is my pleasure to provide you basic lodging free of charge,” he offered as he pushed his graying hair out of his eyes.



I was further surprised to find this man remembered the old ways. “I thank you for your hospitality. Now let us speak in private about what you ask of me.”



He invited me behind the counter and we entered a small room. “To whom do I speak, Sir Knight?” he asked as he offered me the only chair in the room.



“I am Sir Bailey, Knight of the Hand. How may I be of service to you?” I responded as I seated myself.



“Glad to make your acquaintance. I am Reginald Moorhead. There have been strange happenings here in Whitewood lately. It is these I wish you to investigate.”



“What sorts of things do you speak of?”



“I am unable to give specific details. The city Aldermen post notices in the square each time one of these inexplicable events occurs. The notices are always vague and only tell us to be on our guard. With such little information, we cannot possibly know what to guard against.”



“I see your concern. Has anyone questioned the Aldermen for details, Reginald?”



“After the third occurrence, I did. Once I stated my purpose, I was shown the door without any answers. I was told that if I should be connected to any sort of demonstration with regard to it, that I would be taken into custody by the men-at-arms. I believe a man such as you, Sir Knight, to be the last hope of Whitewood.”



“I believe this matter does warrant my investigation. It is late now, so I shall take my rest and visit your Aldermen on the morrow. If I am able, I will give you the answers you seek.”



“Very good, Sir Bailey, may the Light guide you and the Hand protect you.”



“Thank you and the Hand protect you as well.” In a changing world, I was pleased to encounter a man who remembered the customs of the Blessed Light so well. He showed me to my room. Within were a small bed, a hand basin, and a reflective metal. I suspected that these were more than basic accommodations, but said nothing.



Reginald withdrew, leaving the key with me. I knew that I should look my best if I meant to meet with the Aldermen on the morrow, so I planned to purchase a basin of water in the morning. I returned to the lower floor and entered the adjoining tavern to eat.



“Wadda ya want?” the barkeep demanded as I took a seat at the bar.



“Hot meat and a tankard of ale,” I said. This fellow did not seem to know or care what I was.



“Four bits,” he demanded, holding out a hand for payment. I searched my purse and gathered the required payment. “I said five bits,” he lied.



“No, you did not. You asked for four bits,” I responded.



“Well, now I’m sayin’ five bits,” the barkeep scowled. “I’ll not give back the four, either.”



“You have done this before; I am sure,” I said. “The price you asked for was four bits and I have paid it. Deliver my meal or answer to a local man-at-arms.”



“I’ll just deny you were ever here and you’ll pay more.”



“We shall see…” I said. Then I stepped away from the bar and held two gold pieces in the air. “I offer this reward to the first man here to bring a man-at-arms to resolve this conflict.”



Three of his patrons raced each other to the exit, almost fighting amongst themselves over who would exit first. Finally, they managed to file out and each went his own direction.



“We shall see what comes of this, barkeep,” I said as I took my seat again.

“Yes, we’ll see if any of them can find a man-at-arms,” The barkeep replied smugly. The barkeep returned to his duties, serving all except me.



A few moments later, one of the three returned with an important looking man who appeared to be about my age. The barkeep seemed surprised by this turn of events. “What is the issue here?” the official asked.



“One moment, sir, I have a promise to keep,” I said. I gave the promised reward to the patron who left the tavern.



“I take it you sent for me,” the official said. He flashed a glance at the barkeep which suggested he’d been here at least once before. “I am Herzog, Sergeant-at-arms.”



“I am Bailey, Knight of the Hand. This barkeep needs a lesson in scruples,” I replied.



“This man lies!” the barkeep exclaimed. Though my honor had been impugned, I made no response to his claim. I waited for Herzog to speak.



“Knights of the Hand are not given to falsehood, but your brethren may use a lie in service of the greater good. How can I be sure you are not doing so here?”



His words rang true. I had but one way to make it known that I spoke truth. “I, Sir Bailey, do give my oath that my words are true else the Blessed Light be stripped from my soul.”



Herzog blinked in surprise. “That oath is not given lightly. Tell me what has happened here, Bailey of the Hand.”



I related the story, including the bartender’s rudeness at the outset. After I had finished, Herzog turned to the barkeep.



“Bascom, I like a good brew as much as the next man. Tell me why it is that I have never entered here with the intent to buy one? I’ve been lenient with you before, but since you’ve chosen a Knight of the Hand to con this time, you leave me no choice. For now, you will return to him the coins that he paid the peasant who retrieved me. You will also give him the four bits he paid for the meal and you will serve it to him. Any further action will be decided by the Magistrate on the morrow.”

* * *

The next morning after washing, I set out toward the city square and the offices of the Aldermen. In the middle of the square, a spring bubbled up from the ground. A pooling area had been built around this and narrow path led up to within arms reach of the spring itself.



On the far side stood the city hall which housed the offices I sought. Upon reaching it, two burly men-at-arms crossed spears, blocking my entrance. “State your business,” the guard on my right demanded.



“I wish to speak to the Aldermen about city concerns,” I replied formally.



“What is your concern specifically, traveler?” he asked.



“Your position does not require the exact nature of my visit.”



“Very well, follow me,” he replied. From his tone, I gathered that he was not satisfied by my answer. He led me to a small waiting room. “Whom shall I say is calling?”



“Sir Bailey, Knight of the Hand,” I told him. He left me and I heard him enter a room further down the hall. After being inside for a mere moment, he returned to his post, giving me a baleful glance as he passed.



Later, three men joined me in the room. “Welcome, Bailey of the Hand, we are the Aldermen of Whitewood. What brings you to our door this day?” a gray-bearded man inquired.



“Perhaps we should speak more privately, gentlemen,” I replied.



“Of course, if that is your wish.” The three led me to the room from whence they had come.



“Now,” a slightly younger man asked, “how can we be of service?”



“First, gentlemen, let us deal with introductions,” I suggested.



“How rude of us, Sir Knight,” the graybeard replied, “we have grown too used to dealing with our townsfolk. I am Denos.”



“Yes, and I am Marak,” the second man said. “He is Effinor.”



I shook hands with each in turn. “I wish a good day to you gentlemen. My business is a matter I know you have heard of before. The way I understand it, there have been certain events that you have posted notices about, but have failed to give details about.” The three visibly stiffened. “It is this vagueness which prevents citizens from knowing how they should guard themselves.”



“How do we begin?” Effinor asked rhetorically.



“How indeed?” Marak repeated.



“I believe at this point we should organize this discussion,” I said. “To avert chaos, I should speak with the senior among you on the matter.”



“Very well,” Denos said. “We are handling the matter in secrecy because we do not want to spread a panic.” He paused here as he collected his thoughts. “From time to time during the night, small groups of travelers approach. They never enter town, but guards have remarked that they look like walking corpses. We’ve each been present to witness this. It is a gruesome sight to behold.”



“I see, and I admire your prudence,” I said.



“Since you are here, Good Sir, would you be able to investigate this issue?” Marak asked. “Try as we might, we are unable to find a solution to the matter. One of our own men-at-arms was lost seeking the source of the problem.”



“I hoped you would ask,” I replied. “I would be happy to aid you.”



“Our town will re-supply you for travel and give you any miscellany that we are able.”



“All I should require is a new silver flask delivered to me at Moorhead’s this evening. The flask cannot have been used for anything before I receive it.”



“That should not be difficult,” Denos said.



“The Hand protect you, gentlemen,” I said in farewell. With that, I left them and returned to Moorhead’s. I entered Bascom’s, since I had not yet eaten that day. The man was not happy to see me, but attended me quickly. “Same order as last night: hot meat and ale.” Bascom turned away and drew my ale and delivered it to me while he prepared the meat. It struck that he had not yet asked for payment.



“Hail, Sir Bailey,” Reginald said as he stepped up beside me. “Was your visit to the Aldermen fruitful?”



“It was; regrettably I cannot tell you what was discussed. I can tell you that the mission upon which you sent me continues by their request.”



“I see. I understand the ways of the Hand; you have told me all you can at present.”



“Thank you for not pressing the issue, Reginald.”



“Of course,” Reginald said. A moment later, Bascom returned with my meat, placed it before me, and left without a word.



“He seems less happy to see me than I expected,” I muttered. “Why does he not ask me for payment?”



“Because the Magistrate ordered him to serve you at no charge. He fears you’ll order more if you know that,” Reginald told me with laughter in his eyes.



“Bascom, come here, please,” I called. The barkeep approached looking resigned. “I know of the Magistrate’s order. You need not worry that I will use the order as a means to fatten myself. I do need to keep battle fit,” I reassured him as I handed him the empty tankard. “Another ale, please.” He relaxed visibly and took the cup to fill it again.



Later that evening there was a knock on my door. When I answered, an older man waited on the other side. “I am Sterlon, the city silversmith,” he said politely as he held out a medium sized flask. “The Aldermen bade me make and deliver you this flask; mine are the only hands to have touched it. Does it suit your purpose?”



“This is fine workmanship,” I replied as I took the flask.



“I am a second generation silversmith, Sir Knight. My father taught me all he knew as I now teach my son.”



“Teach him well. The Hand protect you, Sterlon.”



“And you as well,” Sterlon replied and turned away.



I closed the door and held the flask in front of me above my head. “The Hand touch this vessel and sanctify it to its purpose,” I recited. It glowed blue brightly for a brief moment; then the glow muted to a barely noticeable faintness. Satisfied, I settled down to sleep.

* * *

Early the next morning, I returned to the stables. There I found the stable master awaiting his day’s custom. “Welcome back, Sir Knight! It is good to see you!” he shouted on my approach. “Denos visited me yesterday. He told me to have you see the purveyor at city hall.” The stable master opened the gate and led Goliath out of the stall. Handing me the reigns he said, “Goliath has been the best-behaved horse I have ever had the pleasure to work with. I’m sorry to see him go.”



Goliath huffed as if to say, “Of course I am.” The stable master laughed.



“I thank you for taking such masterful care of him these past few days,” I replied as I led Goliath toward the square. When we reached it, I tied Goliath to a hitching post. The stallion huffed and stomped his fore hoof. “I know you need not be tied, but these folk do not. You shall not be so for long.” Goliath shook his head.



Pulling forth the flask, I approached the spring. I held the flask under the flowing waters incanting, “The Light shine upon the waters I draw here and make them blessed.” When the vessel was filled I held it high and corked it, then returned it to its belt case.



I approached the city hall, preparing myself for a challenge from the guards. Their weapons remained at their sides. “Welcome, Sir Knight,” the previous day’s questioner greeted, “the purveyor awaits within.”



“Thank you, gentlemen,” I said as I passed. I walked down the hallway until I reached an open door. Inside stood a wiry man of middle years who turned to me as I entered.



“Welcome, Knight of the Hand, I am glad to serve you. My name is Eravand, Military Supply Purveyor. Though we do not have standing troops here in Whitewood, it is my duty to supply any of the king’s men who may pass. Today, it is my job to see to your needs,” he said.



“Well met, Eravand. Shall we begin? I wish to be about the task quickly.”



“Agreed. Let us go.”



As we approached Goliath, he shook his head again. I untied him.

“What is this fine animal’s name?”



“He is Goliath and he is angry with me for tying him to a post.”



“This way, Sir Knight,” Eravand directed. I fell in step behind him, leading Goliath. Surprisingly, he stopped in front of the tanner’s workshop. “Bailey of the Hand is here to claim his new saddlebags,” Eravand said authoritatively.



Wordlessly, the tanner lifted the bags from a hook on the far wall. He brought them out and removed the old ones. Then he affixed the new bags to Goliath’s saddle.



“My thanks,” I said.



“My pleasure,” he replied.



“Do not worry about consumable items in your old bags, Sir Knight,” Eravand said. “You will be supplied with fresh rations.”



The tanner placed the old equipment on his counter so I could take from them what I wished to keep. I took only grooming tools and my water can. These I placed in Goliath’s new saddle bags.



Eravand led us on toward the feed supply post. The clerk there pushed a package across the counter to me. Inside were enough oats and salts to last Goliath for a good deal of time. I stowed these in Goliath’s saddlebags and Eravand led on.



Finally, I received a package of rations for myself. Again, the supply was generous. It consisted of nuts, hard rolls, and several large pieces of dried salted meat. Eravand led me back to the square where I refilled my water can with fresh spring water. He then pointed out a wide avenue exiting the square to the south. “This is where I leave you,” he said. “That road will lead you directly to the southern exit. The Hand protect you and the Light shine on you always.”



“Thank you and the Hand protect you as well,” I returned. Mounting Goliath, I rode toward the southern end of the city. I passed the guards at midmorning, leaving Whitewood behind. As the day passed, Goliath took me deeper into the wilderness on its outskirts. When I made camp for the night, Whitewood was little more than a smudge on the northern horizon.



I saw nothing threatening or out of the ordinary as yet, but I was nonetheless nervous. After the sun had set, I finally realized what the problem had been since I set out. While I was riding, the steady clip-clop of Goliath’s hoof beats had broken the dead silence that surrounded us. Now, in the depths of the darkness, it closed in like a squeezing fist. I would have welcomed even the hoot of an owl. Even Goliath seemed edgy.



I drew my sword and held it in both hands, point in the dirt between my feet. “Shine, Blessed Light, upon the ground where I shall rest. Hand, in my repose any evil test.” With the invocation complete, I sheathed my weapon. I lay upon the ground with my nerves still plaguing me despite the incantation. While I wrestled with myself over a question of faith, I fell asleep.

* * *

I woke the next morn in the dank gloom of a drizzle that muted the sun’s light. It had wet Goliath such that his mane and tail shimmered with an almost spectral light. I shivered from the chill of it as I rose from the wet ground. I decided to groom Goliath, hoping the activity would warm me. I gave him the oats he deserved while I worked. The work did warm me and Goliath appreciated it as well. Then I took a piece of dried meat from the saddlebags for myself. Finally giving up on the weather, I saddled Goliath, and mounted.



Using only my sense of direction to guide me, I rode through the dreary weather. I hoped that my goal lay further south instead of off the path somewhere. It was not until early afternoon that the drizzle let up which left a depressing overcast.



At mid-afternoon, I came to a fork in the path. I paused here to decide which path to take. I was loathe to waste time retracing my steps due to an error. Straight ahead of me, the main road continued. To the right lay a faint trail which did not appear to see much use.



I urged Goliath down this less used path, reasoning that any source of evil would hide itself away from main avenues. Also, if the Aldermen spoke true, the blight could not be much further away from town. My suspicions were confirmed shortly thereafter when I saw something lying in the tall grasses next to the path. Dismounting, I discovered it was a body. Further inspection revealed that it was likely the missing man-at-arms from Whitewood.



I wet my fingertips slightly with the Blessed Waters I carried. Then I rubbed my fingers across the man’s forehead. “The Hand raise you up to the realm of the Blessed Light,” I muttered.



As I came to my feet, something moved in the grasses further up the path. It did not reveal itself. I watched as it retreated further into the grass which concealed it. I chose not to chase. Doing so would have wasted time and may have proved dangerous. While a knight often faces peril, only a fool seeks it out without cause. I mounted Goliath again and continued down the path.



As night fell, I came to the gates of an abandoned burial ground. The soil of the graves within appeared disturbed. Within, small groups of people shambled about. I dismounted and faced Goliath. “I do not think you can help me here, friend. Wait for me,” I whispered. Opening the flask again, I rubbed a generous amount on the back of my left forearm. “Light protect me in this place of darkness. Be my guard against the evil within.” A pale blue shimmering disc grew from there. After pouring a small pool of the waters into my left hand, I closed the flask and replaced it at my belt. Then I drew my sword and crossed the threshold.



The wandering groups proved to be the walking corpses that the Aldermen had described. Upon my entry, they all approached me as I had suspected. They were not fast, but they did move with more speed than I had expected.



I waited just inside the gates until they came within striking range. “Away, unnatural beings!” I shouted as I flung the waters in a wide arc. The waters struck a good many of them. Some of them fell motionless while others melted into the earth. The acrid stench of decay rose around me. Of the front line, only one remained. I reached out with my left hand and grasped its head. It froze, stricken by the power of the waters. I raised my right foot and kicked the creature away.



These, I knew, were merely puppets controlled by some greater power. Grasping the sword with both hands, I strode forward. I swung the blade in a wide arc. Three of the corpses fell under the force of that single blow. Even so, it felt as though the blade struck nothing. I reversed the blow, turning to my left to adjust its direction, then turned about and struck with an overhead smash.



Though many bodies lay scattered about after only three maneuvers, the battle was far from over. I fought in the darkness for at least an hour. As I battled the last of these foes, it seemed to take a superhuman effort to raise my blade. When I stood alone, the ground was covered with bodies which should not have been walking when I arrived.



Finally, the time came to seek out the source of the evil I faced. In time, I found the entrance of a crypt whose gates stood open. From below, the light of a great many candles flickered in the gloom.



I cleaned the blade of my sword. That done, I knelt in preparation for an invocation so rarely used, some in the order never did. I had not felt the need to use its power before and hoped never to need it again.



“By my sacrifice, let the Hand act through me. May it aid my quest against he who works evil here.” I cut a shallow gash in my left palm and wiped my blood on the blade. I stood and strode into the crypt.



Upon entry, my eyes were drawn to a gaunt man who stood at the opposite end of the mausoleum. He stood behind a low stone table. Making an odd hand gesture, he released a shimmering globe which flew toward me. I raised my guard, and the globe was absorbed by the Shield of Light.



I had heard of these foul men before, these practitioners of the arcane. This was the first time I had met one. I hoped it to be the last. By building these low tables and laying bindings upon them, these necromancers gained control over the spirits and bodies of the dead.



He appeared mildly surprised as he stood behind his infernal altar. The blackness in his heart and spirit blinded the necromancer to the shield’s presence. He launched another orb at me and though it too was absorbed, I knew that the shield could only take a certain amount of this punishment. The necromancer made a rising gesture with both of his hands.



Some force made me spin while swinging my sword. It sliced through two more minions he had just raised up behind me. I turned and faced my true enemy once more and strode toward him. He laced his fingers, and then threw his arms wide. A jagged wall appeared between us. I paused to examine this obstruction. It appeared to be constructed entirely from bones and stood taller than I. This fiend had blocked me, but had also trapped himself within the crypt. I had only to wait until he lowered this guard. Perhaps I could bring that about more quickly if I made it appear that his wall was not stopping me.



“Hand, clear my way by thy might,” I shouted. “Destroy this obstruction with thy strength!” These words accomplished nothing since the hand could not be called on for such a task, but an enemy like this one would scarcely know that. To make it appear as if my ’spell’ was at work, I kicked the wall soundly. The noise echoed throughout the chamber. I waited a few seconds and kicked again.



After about five of these kicks, the entire wall fell to dust. The necromancer stood before his altar completely transformed. He held a short blade which looked like some variant on a dagger. In his other hand, he clutched a small but serviceable shield built of bone. It was obvious that the wall had been meant to hold me back while he prepared to do battle hand to hand.



Despite his gaunt appearance, I knew better than to take this foe lightly. These men used daggers in ways none but they could understand. I approached cautiously while my foe waited for his opening.



Never having called the strength of the Hand before, I could not have said what the reddish tint my blade had taken on meant. I elected to strike first with a one-handed swing. My blow was blocked by some force which I could only see when my sword contacted it.



The necromancer countered with a strike more like a punch. His blade was laid alongside his forearm. When he had completed the swing, he struck again with a backhanded attack. Both of these bounced harmlessly off my shield, but they also felt more threatening than a mere dagger had a right to under any circumstances. The necromancer twirled his dagger to a standard grip.



I dodged right, attempting to circle past his guard and made a quick thrust. The maneuver was successful, but the thrust was still blocked by whatever ethereal force he had brought forth. I had surprised him enough to deny him any counter and all he could do was turn to face me. I lashed out with a kick. When it made contact with his arcane protection there was a dim flash. My foot continued on past the usual perimeter and made solid contact with the necromancer’s torso.



He staggered backward, but did not fall. I took the opportunity to destroy his altar with a quick kick. The necromancer made a final desperate charge. He made a powerful slash, which I had to block. Afterward, the Shield of Light was spent and disappeared. The necromancer’s charging attack had left him off balance. I raised a knee into the man’s stomach and then brought the pommel down on his head, stunning him. Standing on his left, I delivered the killing blow; I left him where he lay. I wanted to clean his foul blood from my blade, but there were more important things to do.



I drew forth the flask and opened it. Pouring some of the Blessed Waters on my hand, I flung them on the walls. I repeated this until the flask was empty and then placed the flask itself on the remains of the infernal altar.



“By the running of these waters, this place is purified;

by the touch of the hand, this ground is sanctified;

by the placement of this artifact, all wrongs be rectified.”



I left the burial ground and joined Goliath. The night felt far more comfortable now. On the morrow, I would begin riding back to Whitewood. For now, exhaustion took me with a totality I had never before experienced. I collapsed into sleep just outside the gates.