AN UNHOLY ENCOUNTER: KAYNOS HISTORY TALES
by
Tracey Alley
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PUBLISHED BY:
An Unholy Encounter: Kaynos History Tales
Copyright © 2010 by T. L. Ali
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Dedication
Dedicated with sincere gratitude and deep affection to my friend
Andrew Farrawell…. My own personal Wulfstan.
Thank you, my friend
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An Unholy Encounter
Slade had found himself in some precarious situations in the past but none quite like this one. Although his position as Crown Prince Einreich of Vestland would have allowed Slade, as he preferred to be called, to live a peaceful and uneventful life he had a craving for excitement that frequently got him into trouble. Usually Slade was accompanied in his adventures by his sister, the Princess Ursula, and their friends Wulfstan and Ming, orphans raised in the palace by High King Erich and Queen Urda. Today, however, had not been Slade’s idea, nor did he imagine for a moment it would lead to excitement or adventure. It had seemed nothing more than a boring royal duty that Slade had been unable to get out of performing.
His father, High King Erich, wanted to visit with the newly crowned Duke Stefan of the Duchy of Karameikos, Vestland’s western neighbor, to discuss opening up wider trade relations between the two kingdoms. As Erich had spent a good deal of time cultivating the current Duke’s father, Pietr, in the hopes of establishing better relationships between the two rulers personally as well as their two kingdoms he had elected to make this trip to see Stefan without bodyguards or a contingent of Knights of Ilmater. As a show of faith and good will to Karameikos’ new ruler Duke Stefan, Erich had decided instead to take only Slade and Wulfstan, both recent graduates from their compulsory military service, as companions more than guards. Slade’s older brother, Ulrich, had actually wanted to make the trip with their father but Erich had refused, taking Slade instead.
The trip had started innocently enough, King Erich stoically ignoring Wulfstan and Slade’s youthful high spirits, although Slade had caught his father grinning once or twice at their antics. Only when they reached the nearest river road, a mere hours ride from the palace in Noorvix did things start to go wrong. A blockage downriver had slowed the river traffic so that instead of arriving in Karameikos near noon they had not arrived until closer to sunset. As everyone in The Kingdoms knew travelling through Karameikos after dark was never a good idea.
Karameikos was largely wild, unsettled land with all manner of dark creatures dwelling in the region and there were far too many undead infestations for travel after dark to be truly considered safe. High King Erich had pushed ahead regardless, reasoning that they had their horses and all three of them were skilled warriors; although only Slade and Wulfstan were armed and prepared for any sort of combat. Erich was trusting that as it was a scant two hour ride to Duke Stefan’s palace it was unlikely they would encounter any trouble. Remembering this now Slade shook his head, how could his father, normally so intelligent, have made such a fatal error in judgment.
It had been barely an hour into their ride, full dark by that time with none of the three moons having begun to rise and they were struck. In the darkness they had ridden too close to an overgrown cemetery. Slade could still see the pale images of grave markers and the eerie trees barely visible in the darkness. The suddenness of the attack had caught them all by surprise and utterly unprepared. That and the chilling, unnatural silence. The undead did not have battle cries; in fact the undead made no sound at all when they attacked. They had no hope of fighting back; the undead could only be killed, or even harmed, by a weapon blessed by a priest. High King Erich had carried with him only his ceremonial sword, not a weapon used for fighting any enemy let alone the many skeletons and zombies that had attacked, and Slade and Wulfstan had with them only their regulation long swords.
The three had immediately abandoned the dead horses and run haphazardly for their lives; what choice did they have? Now they were holed up in an old, abandoned shack they had stumbled upon during their mad dash away from the undead but each one of them had known it was only a matter of time before they were found. When they came, and they would come, the unnatural strength of the skeletons and zombies would render the thin walls of the shack useless. The three of them had discussed their situation from every angle, King Erich listening respectfully to the suggestions of both Wulfstan and Slade. High King Erich was devastated by the position they were in because it had been his own decision that had led to their current predicament.
“If we don’t have blessed weapons,” Slade had said eventually, “then our only chance is fire. We light a fire in a circle around the shack and pray that keeps them at bay through the night.”
“An excellent suggestion, my son,” High King Erich had replied gravely, “but these thin walls would be alight in seconds if the fire got out of control and if the fire went out...”
“We’d be doomed anyway.” Slade had finished his father’s thought despondently.
“Wait,” Wulfstan had interjected at that point, “if there was a cemetery then there must be a temple somewhere nearby. Surely the temple priests would have blessed weapons?”
“Very likely if they are this close to an undead infestation, but how in The Kingdoms can we possibly get there without being caught unawares?” Slade had answered his friend.
“We have no choice,” Wulfstan had eventually answered, “we’ll have to split up. I’ll go looking for the temple, Slade you stay here and get the fire started and keep it controlled. It’s our only hope.”
“Absolutely not,” Erich had responded adamantly, “I will not allow either one of you to endanger yourselves in such a manner.”
“Papa, Wulfstan’s right. It’s our only hope.”
“Then I will be the one to seek out the temple,” Erich had begun.
“No sire,” Wulfstan had cut Erich off, “you are too important. You are the king of Vestland, Slade its Crown Prince. I am the only one here who is expendable.”
“No one, be they of royal blood or otherwise is expendable in my kingdom Wulfstan, you should know that,” King Erich had replied gravely.
“Well, maybe expendable’s not the right word but I know it’s the right thing to do and the right way to do it,” Wulfstan had argued.
They had wasted, in Slade’s opinion, precious time arguing the point but ultimately, very reluctantly, High King Erich had agreed to Wulfstan’s plan. Before he left Wulfstan had stripped himself of all his armor and his sword. He needed to be able to move as silently as possible and the weapon was as useless against the touch of the undead as his chainmail armor. Before Wulfstan had left Slade had gripped Wulfstan’s upper arm in a rough embrace; both of them knowing they may never see each other again. Once Wulfstan was on his way
Slade and King Erich had used their shields to dig a rough, shallow trench around the perimeter of the abandoned shack. With the trench dug Slade had insisted his beloved father remain in the shack while Slade searched the woods around the shack for fallen branches, leaves, and anything else he could find to start and keep a fire going.
No matter how long he lived Slade doubted he would ever tell another living soul the terror he had felt during his errand. Although as tall and well built as both his father and Wulfstan and well trained in combat Slade felt incredibly vulnerable and ill-equipped. Each step he took in the blackness Slade had been all too aware of the close proximity of the undead. Slade had already witnessed the deadly silence and effectiveness of their attack. The undead needed no weapons, their brute strength and