Chapter One: The Short Monk

Keeper of the Shade

The monk, Derian, rode in the back of a wagon with Lord Sayn, protector of the Hopeless Marsh and the Western Fields of New Delm Province. The monk was short and wore simple brown robes tied around his waist with a braided cord. Around his neck, eight beads as large as his fists were strung with heavy steel chain. The four orbs at the bottom of the necklace were gathered in his lap.

The lord looked out of place with his blue silks and gem-trimmed livery against the dark churned soil of the fields behind him. His gut was wider than an ox’s. He lounged on a thick pink cushion placed on the cart’s chipped wooden floor. Derian did not know of a horse in the entire kingdom that would bear his weight. As such, a team of six pulled them.

The lord spread his arms along the rails of the large cart, looking out over the empty harvested fields. There was a chill in the air, and the trees along the far edges of sight were beginning to rust. One of the lord’s soldiers drove the wagon. Beast breath clouded the air as they pushed their tackle. Two other soldiers followed on horseback, dressed in leathers, leading a line of burdened beasts packed with the lord’s things. The wagon’s wheels squealed as they turned, and Derian could feel every bump and rut in the path. The young man would have preferred to walk, but when a client suggests that you ride, you ride.

He knew that every job would start with him on the wrong foot.

“When they said you were small, I did not expect a child,” Lord Sayn said, squinting at the rising sun. They had left before morning from the keep. It was the first thing the lord had said to him.

“I am no longer a child, Lord Sayn.”

“We pay children half the rate of adults to work the fields.”

“Good thing I am not a farmer.”

“Are you sure your master could not make it?”

“I am the master, Lord Sayn. I know my trade well.”

“Exterminator Monk?” the lord asked. “What a strange title to take. I have never known a monk to be so young, or to exterminate anything but gold from my purse. Do you not take a vow of pacifism? How did you complete the trials?”

“As everyone else, Lord Sayn. As I said, I am not a child. I am short in height, not years. Pacifism is only a vow taken by those whose work requires peace. ”

“I’ve taken shits larger than you.”

“And I’m seen hogs with straighter teeth.”

The lord’s mouth broke into a smile.

“You do not talk like a monk.”

“Do you speak with a lot of the order?”

“I make my offerings at the temple,” the lord waved a hand in front of his face.

“And we are most grateful for that, Lord Sayn. Your request came two days ago, with little detail as to what was going on.”

“I came across this aspect of your order through Lord Mountgomary, who had a similar problem after last year’s harvest. Similar, but lacking in complexity. Which is why I requested an experienced monk with years of work between his ears and hair between his legs.”

“I have been called exterminator for three years, Lord Sayn. I completed my eight years of apprenticeship with the greatest Monk who ever took the title, Brother Rez. It was I who assisted the Lord Mountgomary last winter.”

“Three years is no time at all. And as I already said, my problem is more complex than that of Mountgomary.”

“Mountgomary had a lake of haunts, over forty souls accosting his forest.”

“I know the appraised number,” the lord shook his head. “Forty silver for forty souls, with no way to verify it.”

“Lord Mountgomary was satisfied with my service. He can hunt at night again, and have his evening rumpuses in the wood. Let us stop this raveling. What is the nature of your problem, Lord Sayn?”

“Monks,” the lord shook his head and his chins wobbled as he looked back out at the sunrise. “There is a peasant village at the foot of the Blue Hills. It lies some distance from Gelt’s Pass in the mountains, but the pass’s road runs beside it. There are fifty or so peasants that live there. They tend these fields we pass now. It is a peasant village like any other. They harvest the grain and are paid and taxed in grain. There is a garrison there, of twenty men, and a stout wall built by my craftsmen. The mountain tribes often ride against the village in an attempt to accost my citizenry and loot my harvest. I suspect some untaxed trade happens with Wagoneers who cross the mountains, but little is reported from my soldiers who occupy the tower and march the wooden wall.”

“I do not expect you called on the order to collect unpaid taxes.”

“Correct. A wagon train of mountain tribesmen and Wagoneer prisoners was being brought through the pass. They did not arrive at Camp Elmwood as scheduled. A scout was sent to see what the delay was. He found remains of a broken cart, and the bones of an ox dead on the pass.”

“So, there was an escape?”

“It is likely. The wagon train contained ten of the worst warmongers from the Wagoneers, and twelve tribesmen who assisted them in moving undetected through my lands. They were locked behind iron bars, and the ten soldiers who guarded them were honest men who did their job well. But something happened. My soldiers are gone, the prisoners are missing.”

“Perhaps it is a mercenary you should have hired.”

“Don’t interrupt me again, or you’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” the lord threatened. Derian bit his tongue as the cart lumbered into and out of a deep hole.

“Sorry, m’lord.”

“The scout reported tracking them to the village. It should have been at the very least a close fight, with the soldiers who were stationed there. There should have been blood spilt. It may have been enough of a fight to make the scoundrels cut their losses and regroup, or find another place to molest. Especially without their war wagons,” the lord nodded to himself. “Yet neither were to be found. The scout’s hound scented no blood. The soldiers, the fifty-or-so blasted peasants behind my walls, and the enemy were nowhere in sight. My scout said the gate was open, and nought but ravens stirred from within. No blood was found. No sign of struggle besides the gate being smashed in.”

“Perhaps there was a corruption, or an illness.”

“Perhaps. The scout did approach the broken gate. He did not enter on account of the black birds and the omens of his people. His dog ran into the wood and wouldn’t come out until the scout rode away. He said he saw smoke coming from every chimney. He could see into the houses closest to the gate. All the doors were open. And he could see food on the tables. Horses dead in their stalls. And singing. Coming from the rectory.” The lord shook his head. “Perhaps the boy was a fool. Yet the nature of it is strange. It is not something I am equipped to handle. I thought of burning the place to the ground, covering it with stone and mud. Who then, I thought, would plant these fields? Who would let us know if a war wagon was coming through the pass? It is a vital little town for my part of the province, and a vital eye for the kingdom.”

“It is curious,” Derian said. The mountains were lit by the eastern sun. Every craig and scar on their faces seemed as detailed as the lines on his hands. A small shadow sat at the base, off where the road was headed.

“That is it,” the lord said, nodding towards the dark cluster.

Derian stood in the wagon to look over the driver’s shoulder.

“You can let me off here,” he said. He stepped up the wagon’s rail and jumped down onto the dirt. One of the trailing horses snorted and sidestepped away from the strange creature in brown.

“Here?” the lord said. “Stop the cart, fool!”

“Best I approach alone,” Derian said. “There is no way of telling how far out the curse may reach.”

“The curse?” the lord whispered a prayer and pointed at the sky.

“I’ll send word when I finish,” Derian said.

“If I don’t hear about it in ten days, we’ll consider your payment void,” the lord said.

“You’ll hear,” Derian said. He walked along the road and felt the eyes of the large soldiers, the large lord, and the large beasts. He walked until he was a speck to them. He walked towards the village with his fingers clasped together, whispering meditations and hoping for a quick job and a lot of souls.

As the shallow peaks of the village roofs came into sight, he felt new eyes fall upon him.