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Part 2: The Cleric

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There are low points, and high points, to everyone’s life. It had to be admitted that this was the lowest in mine. No, I corrected myself, the morning after I had tried to out-drink a troll friend of mine had been worse, but not as dangerous, although the hangover had threatened to split my skull into several pieces.

I was lost in an enemy’s castle. A castle which was populated with all manner of demon, half-men and magicians – and I had to kill the three mightiest within a day. I was alone with no possibility of help and I had no escape route.

I laid upon the floor a few moments later, rueing my misfortune, but I do not stay depressed long and soon my normal overconfidence came back, not in a flood, more in a slow trickle. I made a mental list of all that was in my favour – my strength, ingenuity, wit and the magic sword, although I had yet to test the usefulness, or otherwise, of that last yet. They were pitifully few, and I did not even try to list the points against me, in fear of getting depressed again. My skills would be enough to carry me through. I hoped.

Thrusting aside all thoughts of failure I clambered to my feet and unsheathed my sword. Looking around, I found that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could make out some steps a few feet ahead of me. I waited until I was steady on my feet before I started to creep towards them.

As I placed my feet upon the first step I heard voices approaching, so I flattened myself against the wall in the depths of a shadow. I carefully held my breath while they came nearer, eager to catch their conversation.

I saw that they were both Slards, stupid creatures that were about eight feet tall each. They were repulsive to look at, a cross between mammal and reptile but tougher than either. They had scaly grey skins but had scraggly mounds of hair placed unevenly over their bodies. Their features were vaguely humanoid, but were stretched revoltingly across their wide faces. One of them, slightly taller than the other, was making some doubtlessly engrossing observation while the other nodded knowingly, but I could not be sure of what it was, as I do not speak the language.

They walked past, totally heedless of my presence, and then I stole silently up the stairs, hoping that it was the right direction. I held my sword tightly in my hand, hoping that it would not be needed too soon.

I was lucky (I think) as I soon came across a large troll, who appeared to be standing guard over a curtained doorway. Luckily for me he was looking out of a huge window, watching his army on manoeuvres in the castle courtyard. I have never been a coward, and I have always thought ill of people who attack from behind, but this troll was a sturdy chap almost twice my size. I had no wish to drain my energy in a fight with him so I decided to waive my little rule about attacking from behind. I ran up swiftly behind him and delivered a hefty kick in the small of the back which propelled him through the window. I did not feel sorry for him, as trolls are durable creatures and he would be more likely to damage someone who he landed on than himself. This was verified a moment later when I heard him calling out to those below. There was a dull thud, and soon I could hear a chattering as people gathered around him. I refrained from looking out of the window to contemplate the scene, as I did not want anyone to see me unless they had to. The troll was so thick-skinned that it would not have felt my blow, and would probably explain that it had tripped.

Noiselessly I slipped through the curtain that covered the doorway. I found myself inside a wood-panelled room, with bookcases covered in dusty old books on three of the walls. Across the wall furthest from me there was an old oaken bench traversing the width of the room, which was strewn with weird-looking objects. Working at this bench, apparently occupied with some object which I could not see, was a tallish man clothed in a flowing grey robe. It seemed that he had either not heard, or ignored, the falling troll’s cries of warning, so his back was still turned to me.

I took this all in in a second, then unbelieving of my luck, I moved swiftly towards him with sword raised high above my head ready to slice him in two. But then I was within two feet of him he whirled round with a speed that astounded me, holding a short, ornately carved dagger out before him. I was unable to stop myself and so ran on towards him. I was as amazed as he was when instead of transfixing itself in my gut, the dagger passed straight through me. We both stood paralysed for a moment, and then he started to quiver, obviously believing me some revenging ghost, and fell to his knees.

“Take my humble life, O Lord,” he whimpered quietly to me, “for I have done wrong.”

I was happy to oblige, so I raised my sword above my head once more from where it had hung limply by my side and brought it down it a great arc, severing his head from his convulsing body in one blow. His head rolled under the bench, leaving a trail of blood behind it.

“Ha!” I shouted, “Think I’m stupid do you?”

I reached under the bench and grabbed the head by the hair and dragged it out, ignoring its squealing. I pounded it against the strong bench until the wretched creature shut up, then I put it on the floor against a bookcase and kicked it a few times with my leather-booted feet. By this time the head was nought but a bloody mass of bone and oozing brainstuff, but I was distrustful of the tricks magic-users played so I sliced it up a few times with my sword before placing each piece into some bottles which I found upon the desk. I found some corks for the bottles ‘and corked each in turn. I put the five bottles in different places around the room, as far away from each other as was possible.

Finally satisfied that the cleric was dead, I looked around the room for anything of interest. There were a few coins, but they were inside a jar and I had no idea what traps, mechanical or otherwise, the cleric might have set to catch an unsuspecting thief, so I left them alone.

I would have loved to have taken a couple of the books that were there, but they would surely have proved too bulky to carry around the castle so I was forced to leave them behind. I maintained a vague hope of being able to return here when we stormed the castle, but I thought it unlikely that it would be possible.

Looking at the cleric’s clothes, I decided that it would be impossible to use them as a disguise because of the blood that had poured onto them from the headless body. I wiped my sword and boots clean on the bottom half of the robe before I left the room. I looked from left to right to ascertain which way to go; saw that one way was a dead-end, so, brimming with confidence, I went back the way I had come from leaving behind the mutilated remains of my first victim.