T Lain - Return of the Damned

Regdar lay back on his cot and looked to the ceiling.

As he crossed the threshold, the duke turned around. “Those soldiers who attacked us, whoever they were,” the duke sighed, “I have a feeling we’re going to see more of them.” He paused. “You were very brave last night, and you should be commended. From today forward, however, you begin acting like an officer. Is that understood?”

Regdar nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” replied the duke. Then as he turned to leave he added, “There is an old friend of yours here, someone who I hope will talk some sense into you.”

Regdar struggled again to sit up.

The duke smiled. “I’ll send him in.” He disappeared from sight, followed by Captain Masters.

A moment later, another large frame filled the doorway, backlit by the rising sun.

“I’m told the hero Regdar could use a cleric,” said the man.

“Amen,” said the big fighter, lying back once again.

The man crossed the room and looked down on the cot with a big smile on his face, his helm under his arm, and the symbol of Pelor inscribed on his chestplate.

“Jozan!” exclaimed Regdar, jumping slightly. “It’s good to see you. I was starting to wonder if I would ever set eyes on you again.” Regdar shrugged as he looked down at his bandaged body. “Forgive me if I don’t get up and give you a proper greeting.”

Jozan chuckled. “Good to see you, too.” He knelt down and placed his helm on the floor next to him. “If you think you’re getting out of that greeting, think again.” Placing one palm on Regdar’s forehead and the other on his knee, the cleric prayed softly. “Lord father, grant me the power to release your humble servant from the agony of his wounds. Bind him in your everlasting light and…” Jozan’s voice trailed off into a low mumble that Regdar couldn’t understand.

Then the cleric’s hands glowed softly. The light grew, then receded, and Regdar blinked. Little round dots of pale orange floated in his vision, and he wiped his hand across his face. His skin was no longer puckered or scarred, and his leg no longer ached.

“Thank Pelor,” he said as he stood at last to embrace his friend.

Jozan rose and returned the welcome.

Breaking away, Regdar hopped a bit on his injured leg, squatting to test it. Satisfied, he headed for the door and motioned Jozan to follow.

“Hungry?” he asked. “The least I can do is buy you a good breakfast while we catch up.”

Jozan stayed put. “I’m afraid I don’t have time. I’m on urgent business.” The cleric took a deep breath. “I’m only passing through briefly.”

Regdar stopped and turned around. “Oh.” He scratched his head, then stepped back toward the cleric. “Do you need my help?”

Jozan smiled. “Not this time, but thanks for the offer.”

Regdar shrugged. “If you didn’t come to catch up and you don’t need my help, then what did you come to New Koratia for?”

Jozan looked to the ground. “I came—” He hesitated. “I came to tell you about a rumor I heard.”

Regdar laughed. “You came all this way to spread gossip?” He stepped up and put his hand on the cleric’s forehead. “Maybe it’s you who needs healing magic.”

Jozan grimaced. “No.” He took a deep breath. “I came because I heard word of Naull.”

Regdar’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at his friend. “Did the duke put you up to this?”

Jozan shook his head. “No, Regdar, he didn’t, and I would suspect, judging from what I heard of your conversation, that he wouldn’t be happy to know what I’m about to tell you.”

Regdar shrugged that away. “What is it then?”

“I’ve heard that Naull may be alive.”

Regdar waved his hands in the air unsteadily. “I saw her disappear into the Elemental Plane of Fire with my own eyes.” He turned around and stepped away from the cleric. “She’s dead, Jozan. Dead, and I couldn’t stop it from happening.” Regdar spun on his friend. “Your spreading rumors isn’t going to bring her back or—” he gritted his teeth—“make me feel any better about losing her!” He shouted the last word through grinding teeth.

Jozan nodded. “I know, I know, but I’m your friend, Regdar. I wouldn’t come to you with news like this unless I were absolutely certain it’s reliable.”

Regdar blinked. “How do you know this?”

“Two weeks ago, I encountered a group of missionaries who came to the temple for the night. They told me about a slave caravan they encountered—”

“Slave caravan?” Regdar scoffed. “How would missionaries even know a slave from a slave trader? Besides, what are the odds that they’d know Naull?”

Jozan sighed. “That’s precisely why I’m here, Regdar.” He looked the big fighter in the eye. “One of the men claimed he used to sell apples to an old wizard named Larktiss Dathiendt.”

“Naull’s mentor?”

“Yes.” The cleric nodded. “The same wizard Naull told us stories about when we first met her.”

“And this man, this missionary, he’d met Naull before?”

“Referred to her by name, Regdar.”

The big fighter scratched his chin. “He has to be mistaken.”

“I consulted with Pelor.” Jozan pressed his lips together. “Our savior, the god of the sun, gave me a vision—a very strong indication that this rumor is true,” persuaded the cleric.

Regdar blinked again. “And you’re sure about all this?”

Jozan nodded. “As sure as I am in the power of Pelor that healed your wounds.”

Regdar put his forehead in his hand. “You mean she’s been alive all this time…” His words slowly trailed off. “If she’s alive I should have been looking for her. What must she be enduring right now?” He shook his head and rubbed his temples. “No, no. I saw the City of Fire…I saw it disappear…This just can’t be true.” He looked up.

Jozan nodded.

Regdar leaped to his feet. “It doesn’t matter. Dead or alive, I’ve waited too long to find out for myself.” He clasped Jozan on the arm. “It will be good to have your company again, my friend.”

Jozan grimaced and shook his head. “I can’t accompany you, Regdar. As I said, I’m on a quest of my own.”

“But I’ll need help!”

Jozan cut him off with a stern look. “I’m straining my leave from the church as it is, coming here to tell you what I know.”

Regdar took a deep breath and looked around the room. It was empty. He turned his attention back to the cleric.

“I understand.”

Jozan reached into his pouch and pulled out a rolled parchment. “This is a map of the Marsh of Haelor, at the base of Mt. Fear.”

“To the east?”

“Precisely.” Jozan handed the parchment to Regdar. “You will find a mark in the woodlands at the base of the mountain. That is where I believe the caravan was headed.”

Regdar took the map and shook his head solemnly. “Thank you, my friend.” He clasped Jozan’s arm.

The cleric nodded. “I do not know who holds her, Regdar. Be careful, and may Pelor’s light guide you when the road becomes dark.”

Duke Christo Ramas sat behind his large, cherrywood desk, reading statements from the royal treasury. Two hundred years ago, this very desk belonged to Duke Mikale Ochs, a bloodthirsty tyrant who ruled his duchy with an iron fist. Eventually, his military officers staged a coup, and the duke was stoned to death in the main square of Old Koratia by angry peasants.

Duke Ramas hoped the same fate didn’t await him. He dipped his quill in ink and signed a document giving the soldiers a small pay raise.

A knock came at the door to his study.

The duke blew on the fresh ink and put his quill back in its pot. “Enter.”