immediately dived for the knife and drove it deep and hard into the priest’s chest and watched as the priest fell, almost in slow motion, dead to the floor.
For several seconds Wulfstan merely stood, looking down at his victim. He took no pleasure in killing but knew that it was necessary at times. He could only breathe a silent prayer of thanks that it was not his dead body lying on the cold stone floor. With a deep sigh he straightened up and looked at the bloodied blade in his hand. There was no doubt that it was a consecrated weapon, but as it was consecrated to Bhaal it was unlikely to be of any use in fighting the massed undead that waited for him just outside the temple. With a shudder of disgust he threw the weapon away. He would simply have to make a search of the priest’s quarters and see if there was anything there that would be of any help.
Before he began his task Wulfstan checked the wound on his chest. It was a long cut, almost six inches and deep at the entry point, near his collarbone, but becoming shallower as it went down. Blood was still flowing freely from the wound, although fortunately not a lot of blood; the knife must have missed his major arteries, but he would still need to find something to staunch the wound. Reluctantly he retrieved the knife he had thrown away and used it to cut a swathe of cloth from the dead priest’s linen cowl. Folding the linen lengthwise he placed it over the wound and held it there with one hand. He would have to try and find something that would secure the binding in place in addition to any weapons that might be found.
Moving a little stiffly from his exertions and the dull pain of his wound Wulfstan walked towards the back of the temple where the other door was located. He very pointedly kept his eyes averted from the blood soaked stone altar; he had seen more than enough horrors this night. Reaching the small wooden door he pushed it open carefully, just in case there was another priest waiting in the room. A quick glance confirmed that the room was empty as Wulfstan had hoped and expected it to be. The small room was a combination of sleeping quarters and storage space. Along the inner wall, nearest the open temple room, was a small cot piled with bedding. Next to the bed stood a small stand with a wash basin and jar on top and a single drawer built into the stand. On the opposite wall lay an assortment of items ranging from clothes to scrolls, what appeared to be small bags of spell components and, he breathed a sigh of relief, weapons.
Hurriedly Wulfstan searched the small drawer and found, as he had been hoping to, proper bindings to dress his wound. Sitting distastefully on the edge of the small cot he tended the long cut on his chest, he did a rough job of it but it would suffice. The bindings helped enormously and although he could feel the still dull, throbbing pain in his groin it was beginning to ease. Now to search the rest of the room. He went immediately to the small cache of weapons that lay haphazardly in the corner of the room.
It was obvious to him that the weapons must have come from victims of either the priest or the masses of undead in the nearby cemetery. If they came from kills made by the skeletons and zombies then they would obviously not be blessed weaponry. Wulfstan frowned in irritation, how, he wondered, was he supposed to know if any of these weapons were blessed? He picked up weapon after weapon, hoping for some sign, something that would indicate the weapon was blessed, but there was nothing, they were all ordinary weapons. In sheer frustration Wulfstan kicked at the whole pile, scattering them with his heavy boots.
As he did so Wulfstan noticed one weapon lying at an awkward angle, pressed hard against the back wall. He would have totally ignored it but this weapon was wrapped in cloth; almost as though, he thought to himself, the priest who had brought it into this room had not been able to handle it directly. It was almost as though, and he hardly dared to even think it, but almost as though the weapon was blessed. Bending to it quickly he grabbed the weapon, a heavy, two-handed blade with an elegant cross-piece featuring an odd design, almost an abstract pattern of loops and whirls that Wulfstan did not recognize. Wulfstan examined the weapon more closely and finally found what he was looking for; on the handle of the blade, etched into the leather bindings was the symbol of Ilmater. Although it was obviously very, very old and the small image was almost obscured he was certain it was the symbol used by the Knights; a blessed weapon.
He hefted the weapon, taking a few experimental swings to get a feel for the huge sword. It was larger and heavier than his usual long sword but Wulfstan prayed he would be able to wield the blade effectively. A slightly pained grimace spread across his handsome face, offset by his own bitter determination. Before leaving the temple he decided to have another quick look through the pile of weaponry to see if there was any armor among the pile. Although he did, in fact, find several pieces of armor the only piece that would fit his broad frame was an old, slightly battered breast plate. Wulfstan tied the piece into place, it would be better than nothing, even though he knew armor was futile against an attack from the undead he felt undressed without at least something.
By way of an experiment Wulfstan decided to take a swing at the stone altar; he ran the risk of chipping or even breaking the blade he knew but if the weapon were blessed as he believed then the sacrilegious altar should shatter with the blade’s touch. He paused for a deep breath, wondering about the wisdom of what he was about to do; if the weapon shattered, he refused to even finish the thought. After all, if the weapon shattered it was obviously not a blessed weapon and he was in exactly the same position as he had been in before finding the blade.
Wulfstan slowly released the breath he had been holding and swung low at the revolting, blood stained stone. The instant the blade touched the stone the blessed sword seemed to light up with a shimmering blue fire that shattered the altar completely. Looking down at the pile of rubble he was stunned; this was obviously a weapon blessed by a very high level priest to have destroyed the altar as it had done. Suddenly he had an idea, he looked down at the body of the priest; perhaps the undead would get their meal after all. Bending down Wulfstan grabbed hold of the dead priest and dragged it behind him; now he was ready to leave the temple.
Before he had a chance to open the temple door several of the undead crashed through the wooden door. Obviously they had sensed the death of their mentor priest and were now enraged. Wulfstan gave a slow smile, tossing the priest’s body to the encroaching skeletons. He then leaped forward as they were momentarily distracted, swinging the huge sword with both hands and destroying the undead before they had even touched the body of their former priest. Bending down Wulfstan once again took hold of the corpse; it would still serve to distract the remainder of the milling undead waiting for him outside the temple.
Exiting the temple Wulfstan threw the priests’ body into the midst of the massed skeletons and zombies. He raised the huge sword in both hands and cried out his usual battle call, “For Vestland,” and began to run across the temple grounds to the gathered undead. The skeletons and zombies seemed undecided about whether to feast on the meal that he had provided or to attack the fresh meat that Wulfstan himself represented. It was obvious that some of the skeletons and zombies must have somehow sensed the presence of the blessed weapon as they began backing away from Wulfstan’s approach immediately. The skeletons and zombies were not quick enough, however, to escape his onslaught. With his very first swing of the huge blade he dispatched three of the closest skeletons, their bones shattering to dust.
Moving swiftly through their ranks Wulfstan hacked and slashed at the undead, watching with satisfaction as the blade destroyed each one it touched. He fought through the mass of skeletons and zombies, easily dodging their clumsy blows and wielding the two-handed sword with deadly precision. The majority of the undead were either actively trying to get away from the blessed sword or were preoccupied with their bloody meal of the former priest but Wulfstan was relentless. In a remarkably short time it appeared that he had eliminated most of the undead. The partially eaten body of the priest lay where it had fallen; this priest, at least, would provide no further vic
tims to Bhaal. By now some of the undead had likely crept back to their shallow graves but with the blade in his hands Wulfstan did not fear their reappearance.
Breaking into a rapid jogging pace he headed back to where Slade and High King Erich waited for him at the abandoned shack. If there were any other undead in the region they made no appearance as he made his way through the woods. Soon enough Wulfstan saw the comforting sight of the blaze. Obviously the meal of the unfortunate horses and the circle of fire had kept the undead at bay; thus keeping High King and Crown Prince safe. At the sight he broke into a broad grin and ran even faster towards the blaze.
When he reached the fire’s edge Wulfstan saw his friend Slade who broke into a huge grin at the sight of Wulfstan. Slade used water from his canteen to douse an area of the blaze large enough for Wulfstan to cross the shallow trench safely.
“By all the gods of Vestland,” Slade said still grinning, “am I glad to see you. But where are the priests?”
The two young men were quickly joined by High King Erich and Wulfstan outlined all that had