Pentigrast Read online

  Talen used the last of the venison from the morning to make a fresh stew for their evening meal. With their bellies full and tired from the hard ride of the day both men said little after dinner and soon found sleep besides the flickering flames of the fire. Sometime after midnight the snow started to fall again, at first just a flurry that soon gave way to thick heavy sheets of snow, whipping winds and something else. Talen awoke in time to catch the glint of steel as the dagger plunged into his side, he could feel the warm blood soaking through his clothes as he reached for a dagger of his own concealed in his boot. As his right hand grasped the hilt of his dagger he took a strong blow to his head and the coming darkness rushed to greet him.

  The Thief’s Tale

  No one knows how he came to the church or when but it was told that he was in his 18th summer when young Riven Lannister arrived. Near death and seeking shelter the abbots of the church took him in, healed him, cleansed him and put him to work. After almost a year at the church, Riven was summoned one day before the Archbishop himself. No one knows what was said or what bargain struck but from that day forward Riven Lannister was no longer a ward of the church. Occasionally he could be seen coming or going from the chambers of the Archbishop in the early hours of the morning well before the sun was up. Other times he could be found deep within the library searching through dusty ancient tomes. No one questioned the young man as to his work or his comings and goings; he was free to do as he chose.

  As time wore on there began a shift in the church, the people were becoming educated and could read and this didn’t bode well for the hold that the church enjoyed on the populace or the purse strings of the kingdom. This is when the tales of witchcraft and dark arts began.

  All the Church had to do was plant the idea and the people would do the rest. A neighborly dispute over a small stream turned into accusations of witchcraft, a baby being stillborn brought up inquires of dark arts. And, of course, the church led the way during this great time of need, sending out confessors into the realm to find the truth of the matter and punish the evildoers found. By all accounts Riven Lannister was just such a man for the job and it’s told that he did his job well. Burning witches, beheading men for treasonous talk of the church and it was even said that questioning clergy wasn’t beyond his powers. Eventually the talk of witchcraft and demons died down after the church strengthened its grasp on the populace again, but it’s told that Riven Lannister continued to seek out the disciples of the dark arts and learn of their secrets.

  He spent most of his time in the churches massive library pouring over brittle books in many different languages but there were times when he would be dispatched in the dead of night on some errand of the Arch Bishop known only to him. Through the years Riven Lannister was always in the grace of the church and wanted for nothing.

  Many of the legends and tales told of Riven Lannister were created by travelers, elders and parents, mostly to scare children into going to bed on time or doing their chores but each tale held some glimmer of truth and then there was one particular tale that had its roots in truth and that is the tale I will tell you now.

  In his 41st summer Riven Lannister disappeared from the church for over a year, no one, not even the Archbishop himself, knew where Riven had gone or what he had done during that year. Just as quickly as he disappeared one winter’s night, he reappeared a year to the day later and was seen in the company of the Archbishop having what was termed as “a heated exchange”. Many asked what became of him that year but no one received an answer.

  About this time another heresy had revealed itself to the kingdom, and this time it was real. An underground sect of heretics had made itself known around the kingdom with a peculiar calling card, a pentagram etched in blood. At first it was believed to be the work of children or drunken miscreants looking for fun, but all too soon the bodies started to appear. Many of the corpses were found headless with a pentagram carved in their chest while still others were found with gaping holes in their chest where the heart once appeared. The worst were the children, often times only a head would be found with a pentagram etched between their eyes.

  The Archbishop sent for his best confessor and confidant, Riven Lannister, who was dispatched in great haste to find this sect and its leaders and bring them before the church for final judgment. The rules of this game were clear, Riven was not to do more than question any individual and then pass them along to the church for further interrogation, and there would be no exceptions. Why the Archbishop tightened the leash on his faithful dog was never known and for a while Riven played the part of faithful dog well, that is until more children were found among the dead. It was then that the streets became much bloodier. For each Corpse found with a pentagram etched into it, two bodies of sect followers would be found beheaded or disemboweled.

  Again the Archbishop called his faithful dog to heel and heel he did…for a time.

  “I was a young man at the time having just reached my 28th summer. With no real prospects for work and being quite lazy I took to what I knew best, thievery. I never stayed in one place long but I made sure to get my fill everywhere I went. I wasn’t familiar with the city, nor the church, when I happened over a large stone wall surrounding the gardens of a very nice estate. The gardens were of flowers and vegetables so I hid for a while among the tomatoes and had a snack and whiled away my time until the dead of night when I do my best work.

  I awoke at midnight to hear the men talking. I didn’t know who they were but by their tone and appearance I assumed they were important men. I crept closer through the taller flowers to get a better look and listen and that is when I witnessed hell unleashed on earth. I can tell you now for certain that the men were Riven Lannister and the Archbishop, the man lying on the ground at Riven’s feet I now know to be the leader of the heretic sect. While I still wasn’t close enough to understand what was being said I certainly could see that these men were locked in a battle of words. As I was about to creep even closer I noticed something strange in the grass near the men, I couldn’t make out what it was and then it happened.

  The shouting grew more intense, the faces became ruddier with blood and Riven turned on the man lying on the ground. He picked him up by the neck and slammed him down in the grass on top of the strange object, the object that was now very clear to me…it was a cross. As the Arch Bishop screamed bloody murder Riven answered his call and the screams of the man lying on the cross overtook them both as Riven pounded the first spike though the man’s right wrist and then the left. By the time Riven pounded the last spike through the man’s feet only a whimper could be heard coming from the cross. Horrified I looked on as Riven then raised the cross back into its hole and the man groaned in agony as he slumped forward. Riven then turned on the Arch Bishop who was standing before the cross stunned and screamed “This is what you made of me Father, This is what you can no longer hide!” And with a flick of his wrist Riven unleashed his sword upon the cross and the dead man’s bowels littered the ground before them.

  I don’t remember who left first but no more words were spoken that night by the men. I scampered back to the back of the garden and over the wall before anyone could see me.

  Two days later the Archbishop suddenly died of a massive stroke while taking his morning tea. Nothing suspicious was thought as the man was in his 78th winter, but rumors persisted none the less, pointing fingers at Riven Lannister and speaking dark rumors about an argument days before the death.

  No one knows what passed between the Archbishop and Riven Lannister in those last days and what I heard and saw made little sense to me, but the killings stopped that night. There were no more stories of corpses with pentagrams and none spoke of heretics or the damned. I left the city as the sun dawned the next day and never looked back, but I have been followed these many years by the tales of Riven Lannister and the ghosts of the deed I witnessed that night.”

  “So say ye under Gods watchful eye and with the conviction that God and Church wil
l smite thee down if you have lied?”

  “It is as I say and will testify to Holy Inquisitor, you and God have my word…”

  Into the Fire

  The sun was high above head by the time Talen started to open his eyes, as he tried to push himself up the searing pain in his left side laid him back down again quickly, bringing a wave of nausea and dizziness to him. He lay there in the snow for several minutes before rolling over onto his stomach he tried to push himself up again. Bringing his right knee up as he pushed off the cold snow laden ground the searing pain of left his side once again created a wave of nausea and last night’s meal was expelled with force. Wiping his mouth he again pushed upwards and found himself on his knees. His head swimming with pain and dizziness he tried as he might to survey the scene around him. Where he lay was a large area of crimson colored snow and as he look down to his side his clothes were soaked through with blood. As his eyes adjusted better he was able to see that the entire camp was covered in a new layer of snow except where the fire had been. There, just beneath the surface, he could make out the crimson outline of a pentagram with an inverted point.

  Struggling to gain his feet Talen used the low branches of a nearby pine to stand upright and steady him as the nausea set upon him again. His head throbbing from the blow he took during the night had eased up on the dizziness some and he could now see the campsite with more clarity. Riven was gone, the horses were gone and there were pools and trails of blood everywhere just beneath the surface of the snow, but no footprints to be seen. Whether the blood was from man or beast he could not tell but it was certain that death soon followed for whichever it belonged to.

  To his right he could see the strap of his leather pack jutting out from the snow, reaching down with his left hand he grabbed the strap and pulled the pack free from its snowy grip as he fall back down to his knees. His wits coming back to him he realized that the first order of business was to inspect his wounds. Deciding better than to try and stand again he grabbed the pack by its strap and crawled slowly to the edge of the nearby stream, dragging the pack behind him. Once there he again struggled to gain his knees and removed his cloak and leather jerkin. His underclothes soaked with blood were the last to be removed. The wound was large and still bleeding; whatever was used to pierce him was not a normal blade. He leaned down and cupped a handful of water in his hand and started to clean the area in and around the wound which brought stinging tears to his eyes. Although the wound was large it seemed to him that it was a clean cut and nothing vital was hit. He quickly opened his pack and pulled out a clean shirt and used his knife to cut it into large strips. Cleaning the wound further he then took a large portion of cloth and packed the wound before tying off several strips around his midsection to hold the packing in place.

  Once the wound was tended he put on yet another shirt from his pack before donning his bloody jerkin and heavy green woolen cloak. He knew he would need help and fast as the wound on his side would soon start to fester and turn. Pushing hard from his seat in the snow he gained his feet painfully and walked back towards the camp. Nothing was to be seen of Riven or the horses in the blood soaked cold winter’s snow. Staring down at the pentagram in the snow he realized that the inverted point was aimed towards Quinth. Getting his bearings he judged that he was at least four days by foot from the borderlands and even more than that from Stongshire. He reckoned his best chance this day was to turn back towards the cave and with any luck he would make it sometime after nightfall. Grabbing his pack he swung it up over his shoulder with pain and limped back in the direction of the cave.

  Talen limped and stumbled for what seemed like hours through the dense tangle of dead trees and snowdrifts, as the sun was setting over the borderlands he had just made it to the North Slope. In his condition it would take another hour or more to climb to the sheer granite face and find the cave. Before setting off up the slope and knowing the darkness would soon overtake him he pulled his lantern from his pack and fumbled to light it with damp matches from his cloak. After the third try the lantern came to life and Talen was once again on his way, albeit much slower and stumbling somewhat more. Each step brought more pain to his side and with each step the slope became more treacherous. After what seemed several hours Talen finally reached the face of the granite cliff. It would take him yet another hour to find the entrance to the cave. As he stumbled into the mouth of the cave the lantern slipped from his grasp and sputtered out as it hit the granite floor. In the darkness a heavy thud sounded as Talen fell to the floor beside the lantern and was swallowed by the blackness.

  As the sun came up in the East over Strongshire the first rays of light crept into the cave licking at Talen’s boots. As the morning moved on the sun filled the mouth of the cave warming his body and bringing him back to consciousness. As he opened his eyes and sat up with great pain he heard a rustle outside the caves entrance and quickly pulled his dagger to arm himself. As he struggled to gain his feet he heard a loud snort as his horse wandered into the mouth of the cave. Sheathing his dagger Talen moved as quickly as he could towards the horse grabbing it by the bridle and laying his head upon its snout. Seeing that its eyes were still wide with fear he whispered softly to the beast while stroking him lightly. As he moved around the horse he inspected it for any injuries but found none, it would seem he just ran off in the excitement of the fight. Whether he followed Talen’s trail or just returned to a known place was unknown to Talen but he was glad to see his trusty friend along with the rest of his supplies.

  Talen had guessed the time to be nearing noon and he had some hard decisions to make. Should he mount up and head for the borderlands or spend another night in the cave? After much contemplation Talen decided that the best course of action would be to spend another night in the cave. He could build a fire, eat and get a good night’s rest before setting out early the next morning, and with any luck he would be able to reach the borderlands by nightfall the next night.

  Talen removed the horse’s saddle and bridle and pulled a heavy wool blanket from the horses pack to cover him. After setting the horse with a feed bag he found his way out into the day and grabbed as much dead wood as he could find. Starting a small fire he then wandered down the hill to a small stream and gathered water in a pot to clean his wounds again before brewing some strong red tea and preparing an afternoon meal. The rest of the afternoon and evening passed without incident. Talen cleaned and dressed his wound and ate a light meal and as the day turned to night he decided a fire would only bring unwanted attention. He doused the flames with snow and settled in under a heavy wool blanket for some much needed sleep.

  In the middle of the night Talen awoke to faint voices, thinking it a dream he closed his eyes and tried to regain sleep only to hear the voices again and they seemed to be coming from the back of the cave where the dead women still sat in their circle. Talen sat up and reached for the pack beside him that held his lantern. Finding the lantern he pulled the last of his matches from his cloak and struck it against the floor. As he lit the oil soaked wick of the lantern and the flame began to rise so too did the voices from the rear of the cave. Quickly Talen got to his feet and buckled his sword around his waist before walking the length of the cave and stopping just short of the entrance to the room that held the dead women. The voices were growing louder now and a deep blue glow was emanating from the room.

  As he entered the room he noticed that the pentagram on the ground was ringed by a strange blue flame, looking up he saw the twisted mouths of the dead women were moving together in unison like some morbid puppet theatre as they repeated the same three words “Doth Amini Pentigrast” over and over again. Their eyes, as black as coal, were wide with excitement and their chants grew ever stronger. The flame of the pentacle rose higher until almost touching the low hung ceiling of the cave…and then the chanting ceased. The twisted mouths of the corpses became slack once again and the wide black eyes returned to milky dull disks. The flame diminished to that of a match before s
puttering out but the pentagram continued to glow a faint blue light. Talen remembered the old man’s tale of how these four would give power to the fifth women who would then steal life and wondered if indeed some poor soul only seeking the companionship of a beautiful lover had lost his life that night.

  Talen then remembered another part of the tale told by the old woman to Riven “The women must be sacrificed in a way that spills no blood or marks there body with scar”. Talen focused on these words and wondered what would become of the ritual if the women were scarred after death or the morbid scene destroyed. Talen drew his sword and leveled it at the closest figure before him and as he pulled back to strike the head from its shoulders the eyes once again came to life and the once slackened jaw twisted in a mocking grin. “Fool!” The corpse spat in a mocking tone. “Do you believe that your steel can end our torment? Strike me if you dare and watch your sword shatter as if glass and the shards dance upon the ground. She awaits you Talen Morgan, and the time draws near, go to her in Quinth and leave the dead be. She has the answers you are looking for; only there can you end our torment.” The figure fell silent and the flicker of the lanterns flame was the only light left to the room. As Talen turned to leave he was met by the flashing glint of steel as Riven Lannisters raised blade came crashing down on him.