Douglas Niles - Fistanadantilus Reborn

Danyal watched the exchange with a mixture of disbelief, amazement, and fear. He was astounded that these men could discuss matters of life and death with such aplomb. At the same time, he felt as though he was a very unimportant piece in the game that was being enacted before him.

"Hey! They've got a horse over here!" A voice called from the darkness, and other shadowy forms moved through the woods, drawn toward the source of the sound. Abruptly the night was split by a loud whinny, followed by a bone-crunching smack and a very human wail of pain and fear. Brush cracked and a body tumbled into view, a bandit who clutched the limp, twisted shape of his left arm as he collapsed on the ground and moaned.

More whinnies rang from the darkness, followed by curses, smashes, and finally the sound of rapidly receding hoofbeats clattering up the streamside trail. Three more bandits came into view, dragging a fourth, the latter bleeding heavily from a gash on the forehead. In another moment, another man crawled out of the woods, pulled himself onto a stump, and proceeded to wrap a filthy cloth around his knee as he cursed beneath his breath. "Eh, Gnar," chortled Zack. "Break yer leg, did ya?" "Bah! It'll set just fine!" growled the other, though the grimace tightening his face served to belie his bold words. He looked at Zack, then Kelryn, and Dan was surprised to catch a glimpse of the naked fear on the man's face.

"That was no normal horse. It was a beast possessed by a demon!" snapped the bandit with the broken arm, painfully rising to a sitting position. "I swear I saw fire come out of its mouth!"

"And it crushed my knee with a hammer," moaned Gnar, drawing his bandage tight. Meanwhile, the man whose head had been gashed by the hoof moaned and pressed his hands to the swelling lump of his face.

"A spirited animal, that's all," spat another, a stocky, mustachioed man with a short bow and quiver of arrows. He looked at his fellows in scorn. "You're just not fit to hold the halter of a horse like that!"

"Why didn't you take the rope, then, Garald?" asked Kelryn smoothly.

"I tried, lord-I tried. But these fools had made such a mess of things that by the time I got there the animal had broken free. There'll be no catching it, at least on foot."

"Your horse?" Kelryn inquired, regarding Foryth with a raised eyebrow. "Undoubtedly the creature responsible for the attack against us at your first camp?"

"Er-" Foryth, who had winced and cringed at the sound of Nightmare's escape, looked around awkwardly.

"Our horse," Danyal blurted quickly. "I'm the squire, so I take care of her. Her name is Nightmare," he added, suppressing the urge to grin at the damage the mean-spirited animal had inflicted on these ruffians.

"Apt," replied Kelryn, his tone droll.

"Enough o' this!" snarled the one-eyed bandit, Zack. "Are we goin' to stick 'em and be on our way?" His filthy thumb, still caressing the edge of the big knife, left no doubt as to what Zack's desire was.

"No, I think not." Kelryn was firm, his expression pragmatic.

"Not even the boy?" Danyal gagged on Zack's fetid breath as the bandit leaned close, cackling in cruel mirth.

"I must say, the reward from my temple will be limited-perhaps refused entirely-if such a promising young apprentice is stolen from the church by untimely violence." Foryth's tone suggested that he thought his superiors were a trifle unreasonable on a matter like this, but that he, personally, was powerless to effect a more practical solution.

"No, Zack, not even the lad. At least not yet," Kelryn ordered with a tolerant shake of his head. "We'll find some other way for you to have some entertainment," he promised the sulking knifeman before turning to the rest of his band.

"Gnar, your leg is badly hurt. We'll have to see how you fare. And, Kal"-he addressed the man who had been kicked in the head-"you'll be able to walk, I have no doubt.

"Nic, let me see that arm." Kelryn gestured to the man whose elbow had been crushed by the rearing horse. The fellow came forward and knelt, while the bandit leader took the limb in both of his hands, ignoring the man's gasp of pain when the arm was lifted.

"Fistandantilus!" cried Kelryn Darewind, turning his face to the sky. "Hear my prayer and grant me the power to heal your unworthy servant's arm!"

A green light flared through the night, and Danyal gasped at a sudden, foul scent, like the odor released when someone turned over a rotten log. Kelryn Dare-wind stiffened, calling out strange words as he clutched the injured elbow.

"Stop! No!" The wounded bandit cried out in pain and twisted away, falling to the ground and writhing. He groaned, kicked weakly, and drew ragged breaths as he lay motionless, panting like a dog. After a few moments, however, he pushed himself off the ground with both hands, forcing himself to sit up.

"The-the pain is gone," he declared, extending the arm. To Danyal, the limb seemed stiff, still cocked at an unnatural angle, but the bandit seemed content that his agony had been dispelled.

"You called out the name of Fistandantilus, and then you healed him?" Foryth Teel, like Danyal, was clearly amazed. "What happened here?"

"A priest called upon the power of his god… and he cast a spell." The bandit leader spoke of himself in third person. He seemed dazed.

"That was astonishing!" Foryth Teel declared. He picked up his book, flipping through several pages. "Healing magic is the clear province of faithful priests and gods. But you called upon Fistandantilus. Does that mean that you…?" The question trailed off. Then the historian blinked. "You are the Master of Loreloch?"

"Indeed. As I was the Seeker in Haven, the 'false' priest of Fistandantilus." "But-but that was real magic! You actually healed him!"

"You are surprised?"

"Astounded, more truthfully." Foryth blinked again, scratching his chin. "And you claim the faith of a god named after the ancient archmage Fistandantilus? That is truly amazing."

"In fact, I worship the true faith of Fistandantilus, the sect of a god as genuine as Takhisis or Paladine!"

"But he was mortal. He was a man, not a god!" Foryth Teel was adamant. "There must be some other explanation. An inconsistency in translation, perhaps!"

"No, nothing like that, I assure you."

"But-but how could it happen? It's impossible. It must have been a trick-"

"In case you doubt the evidence of your own eyes, I dispute your preposterous suggestion about my actions. Are you as much a fool as the others?" The bandit sighed, with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. "It seems that I will have to prove it to you. Fistandantilus is a god, and I am his high priest! And you, of course, are my prisoners!" Once again Kelryn seemed to be in sudden good cheer, throwing back his head and laughing heartily. "Now, my unwilling guests, if you will be so kind as to gather your blankets, I wish to start out before the dawn."

"Where are you taking us?" Danyal dared to ask, keeping a wary eye on the menacing figure of the one-eyed bandit, Zack.

"Why, to your destination, of course." Kelryn spoke as if he was surprised by the question. "You will have a chance to become acquainted with the dungeon of Lore-loch, but it is still some miles away."

"Splendid!" Foryth Teel declared. "Then we'll have plenty of time to talk!"

The amazing thing was, thought Danyal as his fellow captive excitedly gathered his quills, ink, and teapot, that the historian actually meant it.

First Majetog, Reapember

374 AC

It is with a mingled sense of purest excitement and deepest regret that I at last address my notes. On the one hand, I have made a startling discovery that twists an understanding of history on its ear: Fistandantilus, a god! With a priest who is not a charlatan. Of course the story must be examined, the evidence studied by my critical eye, but here is great meat for the researcher’s diet.