Читать книгу The Vlishgnath Chronicles - Daniel Mitchell - Страница 18

Episode 12

Vlishgnath, Thunderclese, and Maximus stood on the shore of a moderately sized island compared to the rest they had seen. Standing in the center was a large mansion, identical to the LeFay mansion they had first entered, save the fact that this one looked the way the LeFay mansion likely did before all of the atrocities twisted it into what it had become.

Dnieper’s men waited on the boat, Dnieper himself standing just out of reach of the tide next to Vlishgnath. “My men are yours to command, Vilshgnat. Why is it that you do not take them with you? They are very fierce in battle and do not fear death.”

Vlishgnath turned, moving his helmet from under his left arm into his hands and smiling to the Northman before sliding it onto his head. “A very generous offer, Dnieper, but you have done enough for us already. Those men have waited far too long to die here now; they deserve to return home and reunite with their clansmen.”

Dnieper smiled in return, clapping Vlishgnath on the shoulder. “We will wait for your return, Vilshgnat, and our victory hymn shall join with yours when your battle is won.”

Vlishgnath chuckled, reaching out and clasping hands with Dnieper firmly, then the three paladins set off towards the mansion.

The door, much to their surprise, was unlocked. They paused for a moment, looking to each other in confusion.

“Guess they didn’t think we’d ever catch up to them here,” Thunderclese said, shrugging.

With a gesture, Vlishgnath motioned for him to lower his voice, speaking in a quiet tone. “Then let’s not alert them to our presence yet.”

“Right. Sorry.”

That said, Vlishgnath pushed the front door open, revealing a splendid entry hall. Marble sculptures of unparalleled quality stood watch near the door, the almost mournful expressions of the two female statues facing them as they entered. Stepping further inside, a thick, soft carpet greeted their feet, cushioning their steps. Making their way in, the LeFay mansion in its former glory was truly a sight to behold. A magnificent chandelier hung from the ceiling, priceless crystals casting light all over the expansive room in fractal patterns. Yet despite its luxury, the house had a very definite empty feeling…for all its space, it looked almost unlived in.

“Swords, gentlemen…” came Vlishgnath’s command, drawing Retribution from its scabbard in synchronization with Maximus unholstering Judgment and Thunderclese loosing his longsword from its sheath.

“Now, now, will those be entirely necessary?” Jonathan’s voice came from behind them on the second floor, the three men spinning around to see the baron and his two eldest sons staring down at them from the walkway above the entry hall. Bartholomew stood with his hands on the pommels of his scimitars, handling them eagerly. Alexander eyed the group with great ire, as if he were already tired of their presence.

Standing defiantly in the middle of the main hall, Retribution down by his side, Vlishgnath spoke loudly. “Looks like you should have disassembled that portal after all, LeFay…now, you’ll pay for the sins you have committed.”

Jonathan sneered, his tone audacious. “And you should have taken my advice when I told you not to follow us here. You don’t get it, do you boy? You’re not going anywhere now! The key to the portal resided in here, and now it’s been destroyed. You, and your men, are going to die here. Today.”

“Then if I am truly to remain here, Jonathan LeFay…” Vlishgnath raised the point of Retribution to point at the baron, the shimmering blade lighting up and shedding its bright light as it quivered in his hand, eager to leave its mark on the source of darkness it detected, “…my last act shall be to send you to your false messiah.”

Jonathan glared at Vlishgnath, his voice no longer patronizing but eerily concise. “Bartholomew. Kill them.”

The blond LeFay smiled faintly, tilting his head a bit and bowing at the same time. “With pleasure.”

Then, with an amazing display of unnatural grace and speed, Bartholomew was off. Using the walkway railing as a sort of springboard, he bounded from the second floor, pirouetting in the air as he descended towards the three men, his scimitars coming out as he spun, creating a cyclone of blades.

Maximus stepped forward, pushing Thunderclese and Vlishgnath aside as he brought Judgment up in front of him, the flat side of the blade clanging as the scimitars clashed against it, before Bartholomew stopped himself, pushing off into a backflip and landing on his feet with both scimitars at the ready.

Maximus shouted at his companions as he brought Judgment into a low back position. “This one’s mine! Deal with the other two!”

Without stopping to question him, Vlishgnath and Thunderclese made a charge for the stairs.

Jonathan LeFay scowled, turning to Alexander. “Well?”

Alexander rolled his eyes, then uttered a few words in the arcane tongue. Immediately, he disappeared from his father’s side, reappearing in front of the set of double doors along the northern wall on the second floor. His sudden transition startled Vlishgnath and Thunderclese, the two of them pausing as they reached the top of the stairs. With a spoken word and a subtle gesture, a massive plume of flame erupted from Alexander’s hand, the two paladins diving in opposite directions to get out of the way as the massive flame erupted harmlessly between them.

As they picked themselves up quickly, Alexander laughed and shook his head. “Getting up would be unwise. You’ve only had a taste of what I am capable of.”

With a swift flourish of his blade, Thunderclese stepped towards the young wizard. “Good. I’d hate to think you’d spent all that time writing papers instead of chasing girls for nothing.”

At that, Alexander held his arms down by his sides, his palms facing forward as his hands ignited in a purple flame. The doors to the second floor ballroom flew open behind him, his feet lifting up off the ground as he slowly hovered backwards into the wide open room, his right eyebrow quirked and an amused grin prying at the corners of his mouth. “And perhaps if you’d spent more time thinking with your head rather than your groin, you’d have learned a thing or two about the dangers of University wizards…”

His shield up in front of him defensively, Thunderclese slowly advanced towards the ballroom. “I’ve got this under control. You go deal with the baron.”

Vlishgnath nodded and began his march along the eastern walkway towards the baron’s study.

Back on the main floor, Bartholomew and Maximus circled each other slowly, Bartholomew casually handling the scimitars in dazzling spins and flourishes that could only be achieved with intense practice. Maximus kept Judgment in its usual low back position, the sharpened edge of the blade pointed towards the floor.

After a moment, Bartholomew stopped, bringing the blade in his right hand up above his head with the tip pointing to his left, the blade in his left hand down by his right side with the tip pointing back in an aggressive, offensive stance. Poised on the balls of his feet, his voice was smooth and steady. “I’ve brought down giants bigger than you.”

Maximus gripped the handle of Judgment tightly, tensing for the initial impact.

“Never did have much of a constitution, those giants. Not exactly the strongest, either.” Bartholomew smirked, then abruptly leapt forward.

As Bartholomew slashed out with the blade in his left hand first, Maximus took a measured step back, aware that Bartholomew would likely know just where the vulnerable points in his armor were. When Bartholomew followed up with a sweeping horizontal slash from the right-handed blade aimed at the knee joint in Maximus’s armor, his suspicions were confirmed. Predicting the follow-up swing so he could put Bartholomew off balance, Maximus stepped in, looking to capitalize on the moment with a brutal upward vertical swing. But Bartholomew was not where Maximus expected him to be, instead continuing his momentum in a full 360 degree spin with a sidestep, and bringing the right-handed blade out. Finding the narrow gap between Maximus’s breastplate and his belt, the razor edge of the scimitar bit into Maximus’s lower back, leaving a long slice.

Maximus roared, not out of pain but of anger, spinning around and bringing Judgment in a horizontal swing aimed at waist-level. Bartholomew dove, rolling with the swing of the blade to avoid the bisecting movement, before quickly regaining his footing and spinning around. He thrust at the gap between Maximus’s helmet and visor with the tip of the left-handed blade, his right simultaneously jabbing just above Maximus’s belt, aiming for the almost impenetrable gap that led to his stomach. But Maximus continued his own motion, spinning and stepping in at the same time to push Bartholomew’s blades aside, bringing Judgment up above his head in the same movement and attempting to bring it down in a powerful vertical downswing.

Again, Bartholomew rolled out of the way, the force of Maximus’s swing lodging the end of Judgment into the floor. With a swift, deadly accurate swing of his left blade, Bartholomew found the gap between Maximus’s left bracer and couter, slicing into his arm. But when Bartholomew went to follow up with another slash, Maximus did something that Bartholomew didn’t expect.

Letting go of Judgment completely, Maximus reached out and caught Bartholomew’s right wrist. Maximus’s gigantic hands gripped down onto Bartholomew with a strength that the blonde LeFay hadn’t thought possible. Reacting quickly and utilizing the close proximity, Bartholomew guided the point of his left-handed scimitar into the small gap between Maximus’s belt and breastplate once more, the sharp blade easily sliding into the giant man’s stomach.

Smirking, Bartholomew looked up, expecting Maximus’s grip to suddenly loosen and the enormous man to slump over. Much to his horror, Maximus’s grip tightened, and with a powerful twist the loud snap of Bartholomew’s wrist breaking echoed in the main hall, the blond LeFay screaming out in pain, the sword he had held in his right hand dropping from it as he let go of the one he had stuck into Maximus.

Maximus reached up with his left hand, grasping Bartholomew by the back of his neck and head tightly. Bartholomew’s eyes widened as Maximus got close enough to lock eyes with him through his visor, his left eye a milky white sphere, having been blinded long ago, his right a dark green with a small black dot of a pupil in the center and a long scar running over it.

“Let’s see you roll away from this.” Then, drawing Bartholomew’s limp figure back and reaching out to grab ahold of Judgment in his right hand, Maximus shoved Bartholomew face first into the sharpened edge of Judgment with all his might, Bartholomew’s shrieks reverberating throughout the entire room before suddenly going silent as his skull and its contents parted along either side of the pitted blade.

Meanwhile, on the second floor, Thunderclese had stepped into the ballroom after Alexander, his shield at the ready. Alexander had come to rest at the back of the room, hovering inches above the ground.

“It’s going to take more than a few cheap magic tricks to best a paladin of Mithos, conjurer.” Thunderclese spoke confidently, continuing to inch his way towards Alexander while keeping his eyes on Alexander’s hands.

Alexander laughed lightly. “As you wish.” Speaking in a tone of mock agreeability, Alexander suddenly split, his image dividing into eight identical likenesses of him, encircling the room as a maniacal laughter emitted from each one.

Suddenly surrounded, Thunderclese looked around frantically and, at that moment, all eight Alexanders pointed at him. A large eruption of flame originating from underneath Thunderclese suddenly knocked him off his feet.

Hastily scrambling back up to a standing position, Thunderclese looked up just in time to see the Alexanders wave their hands at him again, this time calling down a pillar of flame. Quickly, Thunderclese dove out of the way, tucking his chin and going straight into a forward roll, letting the momentum carry him onto his feet. The figures of Alexander laughed wildly, spinning around the room and circling Thunderclese closely.

Undeterred, Thunderclese strode to the center of the room, looking around at the different images and studying each one.

The Alexanders shook their heads scornfully as each one spoke in unison. “I warned you, church knight. You should have stayed down.”

“You’re awfully good at running your mouth from behind the safety of your magic tricks,” Thunderclese shot back, focusing his mind and trying to concentrate. Arrogance of this caliber always ended up making a mistake, and when Alexander did, Thunderclese planned to be there to punish him for it.

“Tricks?! I can conjure flames from thin air! Were I so inclined, I could move mountains with my arcane might!”

“And yet you still follow your father around like a dog on a chain, waiting to be loosed on those that can’t defend themselves.”

The Alexanders scoffed, waving their hands in a dismissive gesture. “Spare me your meaningless attempts at insult. Soon you and your fellow church knights will be dead, and over time your names forgotten. I am to become timeless, a chronicler of events as history unfolds before me.”

With another gesture, a lightning bolt issued forth from the Alexanders’ fingertips, this time catching Thunderclese off guard. Striking him in his right side, the electric energy coursed through his armor, bringing him to one knee.

Grunting angrily, Thunderclese rose to a standing position once more, continuing to walk about slowly, eyeing each of the images in turn. “You and your father are nothing more than a stain, an unsightly blemish to be removed before it causes infection. With the portal closed, you no longer have access to the outside world. I would say your mission has failed.”

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong, church knight. The close of the rift is only temporary; soon, father will perform the final rite and establish a permanent link to the material plane. Then, Belphegor shall claim the realm of man as his own. Those who prove themselves of value shall be exalted, while the rest shall fall victim to Belphegor’s eternal hunger.”

Raising both hands above their heads quickly, the likenesses of Alexander spewed forth more lightning, this time in a condensed sphere form that honed in on Thunderclese. Brought to both knees and forced to lurch over in pain, Thunderclese took a longer moment before standing up again, continuing to watch the figures as they circled him.

“And you truly believe in this evil god of yours?” Thunderclese asked. “You think you shall be spared while all others fall victim to a herald of total destruction?”

“I do not deal in beliefs as you do, church knight. Beliefs are for those incapable of discerning the truth on their own. Clergymen grow fat on the offerings of the mindless masses, peddling beliefs as a way of extorting wealth. I have seen the elder god Belphegor with my own eyes. Take comfort in the fact that when I kill you, your soul shall join the countless others father has offered up as tribute, and you will see firsthand the might of a true deity.”

“So he finally swayed you then.”

The images of Alexander scoffed one final time. “I’ve had enough of you.”

And at that, they drew up their hands, gathering what looked to be a particularly deadly amount of raw arcane energy.

It was then that Thunderclese took off running, straight at one of the figures that had been circling him. A sudden look of sheer terror came over all eight faces at once. Alexander was unable to break the spell he had been preparing, forced to watch helplessly as Thunderclese charged right at him, leaping into the air and drawing back his sword, driving the point down into the spot between Alexander’s neck and collarbone and cleaving effortlessly through flesh to sever his heart from its major arteries. The seven other images of Alexander blinked out, and the one remaining quickly began to grow a dull gray, sinking to his knees.

Thunderclese withdrew his sword, blood gushing from the massive hole above Alexander’s collarbone as the wizard’s heart frantically pumped blood in a desperate attempt to supply his body with oxygen.

Alexander coughed and sputtered, able to only get a single word out. “H-How?”

Thunderclese nonchalantly took out a rag, wiping the blood from his sword, not deigning to look at Alexander as he spoke. “I paid attention to which direction I was being struck from. I was almost certain after the first time, and the second one confirmed your true location.” Then, turning to look at Alexander and taking on a tone of mock surprise, “Oh, you didn’t consider that?”

Alexander stared blankly at Thunderclese, blood flowing from his gaping mouth. Then, with one last gurgle, Alexander LeFay slumped over onto the floor, his body going completely still.

Vlishgnath walked slowly but purposefully down the eastern walkway, where Jonathan stood in front of the doors to his study.

Still scowling in disgust, Jonathan called out to Vlishgnath. “You don’t honestly think you can best me, do you boy?”

Vlishgnath, carrying Retribution at his side with the tip pointed at the ground, continued his march towards the baron.

Jonathan took a few unnerved steps back towards his study. “You’re a fool to think you can withstand the power of Belphegor! Behold how I can command his army of demons from the ancient times!” That being said, Jonathan held out his hand with his palm facing upward, making a rising gesture.

Five pools of shadow formed on the ground, each one spewing forth a grotesque purple demon like the ones they had encountered outside of the church back in Drenton. The demons howled and hissed as if painfully being wrenched from where they came from.

Then, pointing his finger at Vlishgnath, Jonathan barked his command. “Feast upon his flesh!”

The demons growled lowly, sniffing at the air like feral animals as they caught Vlishgnath’s scent, then began charging down the walkway on all fours towards him. The one furthest from Jonathan reached Vlishgnath first. Leading with his shield, Vlishgnath hurdled the demon, doing a forward roll over its back and landing on his feet behind it. Simultaneously, the demon spun around and swung wildly with its claws, meeting the carefully positioned front of Vlishgnath’s kite shield. At the same time, Retribution found its first mark, burying into the shoulder of a second demon in front of him, right beside its neck, the creature too startled from suddenly being face to face with the paladin to properly defend itself. The third demon in line hastily scrambled over the dead body of the second, Vlishgnath spinning about to bring his kite shield around in a powerful bashing motion, slamming into the third demon and knocking it back into the fourth, while at the same time bringing Retribution around in a powerful vertical upward slash, catching the first demon in the torso and letting Retribution slide through its flesh as it seared the creature with its radiant energy.

As the first demon fell to the ground howling in pain, Vlishgnath turned back to face the third just in time for its recovery. The creature raced towards him on its feet and knuckles, Vlishgnath continuing his dance-like maneuvering and bringing the point of Retribution down in a strong thrust, catching the creature between the shoulder blades just as it lunged towards him, effectively pinning it to the ground. The fourth demon was right behind it, however, and with his kite shield already drawn back, Vlishgnath brought the edge of his shield forward in a punch, catching the fourth demon in the bridge of its nose and sending it reeling back.

The fifth and final demon sought to take advantage of Vlishgnath’s prone position, leaping straight forward at him and wrapping its arms around his neck. Vlishgnath stumbled back, struggling with the creature as it tried to pry his helmet from his head. Leaving Retribution sticking out of the third demon for a moment, Vlishgnath deftly drew a dagger from a sheath in the back of his belt, bringing his arm around and plunging it into the back of the demon that had latched onto him. The creature let out an inhuman scream, falling from Vlishgnath as it frantically tried to reach for the dagger in its back to no avail.

Reaching down and grasping the handle of Retribution, still searing away at the insides of the demon it had impaled, Vlishgnath retrieved the blade and advanced on the fourth demon, which clawed weakly at his plated boots, most of its face caved in from the previous shield impact. A forceful thrust and a sudden twist provided it with a quick, merciful death.

Jonathan watched on, his face etched in anger as his demons were slaughtered. Vlishgnath paused after finishing off the fifth demon, plucking his dagger from the creature’s back and looking up at Jonathan in stern warning before he resumed his approach.

Standing on the walkway in front of his study, Jonathan reached out with both hands, a sinister shadowy mace materializing in his right and a round shield made of an ebony metal in his left. Shifting his right foot back, Jonathan brought the mace into a high back position, perched dangerously in the air behind his head, ready to strike.

As Vlishgnath drew near, he stopped, pointed the tip of Retribution at Jonathan, and spoke. “I offer you one chance. Repent for your sins, and your life will be spared.”

It was at that moment that Bartholomew’s scream echoed throughout the main hall, and Jonathan looked down in time to see his oldest son die at the hands of Maximus. Looking back up to Vlishgnath, his response came as a growl. “I will not spend the rest of my days rotting in one of the church’s cells!”

Jonathan charged in, bringing his mace down in a surprisingly powerful downward swing that caught Vlishgnath off guard. Vlishgnath brought his kite shield up to meet it, but as the mace made contact with the shield, a sudden eruption exploded from the mace, the concussive force of which was strong enough to put a large dent in the front of Vlishgnath’s shield and send spasms of reverberating pain through Vlishgnath’s arm.

Vlishgnath staggered back, gasping as his arm quivered and shook. Jonathan laughed wickedly as he advanced on Vlishgnath, swinging again in a downward diagonal stroke. Vlishgnath deftly sidestepped the swing, countering with a cross slash from Retribution starting up near his left shoulder. Jonathan brought up the black shield, and the moment Retribution made contact with it, it reflected the full force of the swing back onto Vlishgnath, bouncing Retribution off of the shield with such force that it knocked Vlishgnath off balance. Taking several measured steps back, Vlishgnath crouched down, holding his shield out in front of him again.

Jonathan advanced on him slowly, chuckling darkly. “You see? Being the herald of Belphegor has its advantages...”

Vlishgnath charged in, sidestepping another powerful diagonal swing from Jonathan and ducking an attempted shield bash. Just as he was about to turn about and put his full momentum into another swing, Jonathan caught him in the chest with his mace, the same concussive force now catching Vlishgnath square in the torso and knocking him onto his back, the cracking sound of a rib breaking drowned out by the punching sound of the mace having struck his breastplate. An excruciating pain accompanied the break, leaving Vlishgnath gasping for breath for a moment and barely able to get his shield up, as Jonathan took advantage of him on the ground by bringing the mace down upon him in another swing. This time Vlishgnath’s shield split, his forearm splintering as the kite shield gave way. Vlishgnath let out a deep groan, fighting the almost unbearable pain in his side and forcing himself to sit up as he discarded his broken shield.

Jonathan stood over him, sneering and shaking his head. “Foolish boy. You should have turned back when you had the chance.”

Reaching up weakly with his broken left arm, gasping from the pain it caused, Vlishgnath lifted his visor and looked Jonathan in the eyes. Gripping Retribution tightly in his right hand, Vlishgnath smiled through his involuntary wincing and mustered all of his strength to sound as proud and noble as he could, despite being unable to breathe without great effort. “I know what awaits me in the afterlife, Jonathan LeFay. No such honor or glory awaits you.”

With a snort of derision, Jonathan raised the mace above his head. “Your death will be in vain, church knight.”

Then, as Jonathan tensed to bring the mace down upon Vlishgnath for what would be the last time, there was a sudden loud swooshing noise, followed by Judgment sailing through the air horizontally. Spinning in a large circle, the edge of the blade severed Jonathan LeFay’s right hand just below the wrist before lodging itself in the door to Jonathan’s study.

Jonathan’s eyes widened in shock and horror, his now detached hand falling lifeless to the ground, the mace it had been grasping dissipating. Seizing the moment, Vlishgnath gathered all the willpower he could muster, defying his body’s screams of painful protest as he sat up, and lunged the point of Retribution into Jonathan LeFay’s chest. The divine blade crackled and burned as a holy light coursed through Jonathan’s body, sending him into violent spasms of agony. Jonathan let out a hideous scream, crying out to his dark god one final time before his body went limp, falling to the ground as the shield in his left hand dissipated as well.

Once this was done, Vlishgnath let out a loud sigh, falling onto his back and lying on the ground, drawing deep breaths in a pained wheeze. Within a few moments, Thunderclese and Maximus had made their way over, Maximus clutching his stomach and Thunderclese walking weakly. The two slumped down next to Vlishgnath, who continued to lie there.

After several seconds of silence, Vlishgnath weakly turned his head towards Maximus. “Nice throw. That mace was absolutely destroying me. Not to mention you gave me the opening I needed.”

Maximus let out a dull groan, then spoke. “Hardly. I was trying to take his head off and missed.”

Vlishgnath laughed at first, then quickly stopped, grabbing his side and groaning.

Thunderclese pried his helmet off, letting it fall to the ground. His blonde hair was glistening with sweat and matted to his head, and he reached up to rub the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger as he spoke. “We’ll give you a couple minutes, then we need to get you up so we can get out of here. I’m ready to leave.”

Vlishgnath nodded slowly. “I think I am too.”

Later, back aboard the Hjorngrimar, Vlishgnath and Maximus stood along the port side of the ship. Vlishgnath was stripped of his breastplate, with bandages wrapped tightly around his bare torso and his broken arm in a sling. Still in his greaves and plate boots, Retribution remained belted at his side.

Closing his eyes and enjoying the warm, gentle breeze against his bare skin, with Maximus standing silently next to him, Vlishgnath welcomed the addition of Thunderclese when he joined them on the deck. Still wearing his armor, Thunderclese had his helmet tucked under his left arm and looked off into the distance along with them as the ship crashed over the crimson waves.

For several long minutes none of them said anything until, finally, Thunderclese spoke. “How’re you doing, Maximus?”

Maximus grumbled.

Vlishgnath smiled and answered for him. “He’s fine. He’s refused medical attention, but he actually seems to be doing better than either of us.”

Thunderclese nodded knowingly as he replied. “My whole body aches, but at least I’m not as bad off as you.”

Vlishgnath shook his head incredulously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You still have to live with that face.”

Both men chuckled, though Vlishgnath less enthusiastically than Thunderclese, if only because of his broken rib.

After several more moments of silence, Thunderclese spoke again. “Do you think Drenton will return to normal now?”

Vlishgnath thought for a moment. “I imagine so. From what you’ve told me of what Alexander said, it sounds like we got there just in time. And with the portal now closed, there shouldn’t be any more demons escaping into the material plane.”

Thunderclese nodded.

Just then, the man in the crow’s nest shouted something in the language of the Northmen, and Dnieper could be heard laughing and shouting orders in the same indecipherable tongue.

After looking at each other in confusion for a moment, Vlishgnath and Thunderclese turned to face the chieftain, and Thunderclese called out. “Dnieper! What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

Dnieper laughed again, calling back in a jovial tone. “Nothing is wrong, friend Thuundarclease!”

“Then what is it?” Vlishgnath shouted back.

“My man says he has spotted the green light in the distance! Yrgramir is guiding us home!”

As the walls of Ascention came into view, Vlishgnath relaxed visibly and sighed with relief. Holding the reigns of Aramus in his right hand, his left arm was still in a sling and now tightly secured to his torso. Maximus rode alongside him, having finally let Grisbane bandage him up back in Drenton. Thunderclese came up on Vlishgnath’s left, while a fully recovered Euronymus trailed behind on his black horse.

“Not a bad little send-off they gave us, I’d say.” Thunderclese grinned, looking over to Vlishgnath.

Vlishgnath smiled back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a town full of people so happy to see the sun.”

“Did Grisbane give any sort of idea as to when he’d be heading back?”

Vlishgnath nodded. “He and his other two men are going to stay on for a few days. Help get the community back on its feet, ordain a new priest, and so forth.”

“I see. Well, well...look at this now, eh?” Thunderclese’s grin widened, and as the gates of Ascention swung open, they could all see what the blonde paladin was talking about.

A massive crowd of people lined the sides of the wide street, leading all throughout the city. As Vlishgnath and the others approached, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers and applause.

“Wonderful,” Maximus said irritably, shifting uncomfortably in his seat on the large wooden cart.

Vlishgnath chuckled. “It’ll be alright, Maximus.”

Once at the city gates, the main cathedral could be seen all the way at the back of the city. Between there and the gates, there wasn’t a spot along the side of the road that didn’t have someone standing. Vlishgnath smiled warmly at people, his inability to wave restricting him to an appreciative nod here and there. Thunderclese stood up in his stirrups once or twice, flailing his free right arm much to the crowd’s delight. Maximus didn’t let go of his reigns with either hand, content to hang back with the reserved Euronymus and let the flowers and confetti bounce off of him.

Up at the front doors of the main cathedral, Vogoth stood waiting. His wrinkled face was drawn up in a very relieved smile, while Arch Cleric Angelis stood off to the side and back a ways, clapping enthusiastically.

Once they were within ten yards of the church, Vlishgnath gave the order. “Dismount!” And, despite his condition, Vlishgnath did so quite gracefully.

All four of the men stood before the high priest, dropping to one knee and genuflecting before him. The crowd grew silent as Vogoth looked the group over, his eyes widening as he stopped on Vlishgnath.

“I see Mithos’ chosen champion has returned to us, and in dire need of some time to recuperate,” Vogoth said. “Is Drenton once again under the watchful guidance of Mithos?”

Vlishgnath raised his head, glancing around at the gathered crowd a moment before turning to meet Vogoth’s gaze. “Indeed it is. We have much to discuss, your holiness.”