Chapter 6 Part 3: A Parting Gift

The purple eyed shadow stayed leering for a second more before the fiend’s attention went above and beyond Xavos’ shoulder. The Paladin didn’t hesitate at his guest’s distraction, and pounced like a panther to his prey. Striking without magic in the hopes his overly friendly partyguest would not sense a spell, or see the attack till it was too late. The holy warrior stabbed in the center of the fiends' being.

Magical creations did not always work as one would imagine. The craftier artificers and wizards constructed their machinations to confuse the average mortal warrior. One rarely thought to look for the heart in a thigh, or more in the perceived neck that wasn’t actually a neck in the first place. The Arch Paladin was not your average mortal however. He could sense the power within the shadow tree master. Not in the chest or head, but rather in the lower abdomen. The dark energies emanating from the source therein.

Making contact with the shadow was a strange sensation. Rather than the feeling of meaty flesh, or the cosmic chill coming from a wraith of the night Xavos felt a tremor run up his hand as if he had stabbed a solid block of wood in the practice yard. If not for the holy blade and blessed strength of the Heavens the damage would’ve been superficial.

Black splinters flew in all directions at the point of impact. Each twisted and morphed in the air before being sucked into shadow, or burning out into green ash. These facts were cataloged in the back of Xavos’ mind for later use as he drove the holy dagger deeper into the exposed cursed wood before finally striking a pulsing crystal ball full of purple fire like the eyes themselves.

A secondary blast rocked the compartment marking what should have been the end of the spectre, but the Paladin felt the energy not release into the air and second Heaven like most destroyed constructs. Instead the shadows rushed back into the dark. Back toward the navigation room where the stalker had begun its vigil.

Cursing behind Xavos told him Antain and a few acolytes were rushing toward their teacher’s aid, but he was unfortunately too preoccupied to give them mind. This opponent was but a puppet not the fiend himself or itself depending on what the puppeteer’s nature actually was. Xavos was sure Antain would organize a pursuit soon enough. By then their prey may have already escaped by whatever dark method he had entered their ship.

Rounding the corner, Xavos slid on his knees on the metal floor again with his buckler outstretched in case another attack was waiting for him. None came but a wooden chuckle full of rasp and discord like a flute with too many holes.

The Paladin searched for the source of the sound, and found a shadow of a massive tree branch consuming the far wall. There were dark strings coming down to a black mass of inky smoke mixed with flowing physics defying black waters. At the center of this swarming abomination was the purple glowing face from before. Even as he looked on the leering visage a voice could be heard in his head.

“Paladins aren’t supposed to cheat,” the spectre spoke in a creaking oily voice like an oak soaking in oil, and buffeted by the winds of the mountain.

Xavos didn’t bother speaking. He charged. If there was information to be gleaned, then he would ring the knowledge from the spectre's energy as the fiend passed through the spirit realm, and to whatever cursed tree seemed to be pulling his strings.

The holy warrior was a second too late. The shadowy branch shielded its puppet from all of the Arch Paladin’s magical bolts and blinding strikes before dragging them both into the shadows to disappear. All Xavos heard was the laughter as the fiend left, but he could see his uninvited guest had left a parting gift.

There on the map laid out on the table was a black dagger with a gnarled twisting obsidian tree wrapped around the hilt. The blade was firmly stuck into a port town of no import, and if he understood the charts, off their current course. A curious development to be sure.

Before Xavos could examine his new gift a clash and chorus of shouts marked the small company of acolytes rushing around the corner with the Mule Woman tight on their heels. They were in various states of undress except for the two who were on duty garbed in light leather armor, and hidden enchantments therein.

“My Arch Paladin, I mean Boss! We saw the intruding spectre. Where has the fiend gone?!” Antain grimaced at the new very nonchalant title his teacher had taken on while attempting to sleek through society unnoticed. His discomfort was very entertaining, but Xavos was still focused on the conundrum at hand.

“Calm yourself Antain, the spectre puppet has fled. The monster was called by its shadowy wooded master, but they were kind enough to leave a present to make up for being rude guests.” Xavos said as he studied the blade up close. Touching the dagger seemed like a needless risk. He would need to bring one of their specialist mages they’d brought along to study the device before the possibly cursed blade could be removed from the table.

“Mori, you were on watch! How did this thing manage to gain such a purchase so close to the Arch… boss. Boss,” Antain repeated again in an obvious attempt to rid himself of his mistakes as he rode one of his men for theirs.

“That’s not necessary, Antain. This fiend I fear was on this ship longer than we were. The spirit of the machine is cleaner now. I had thought the goblin stench was what corrupted her air, but apparently they were not the only selfinvited guests aboard the Lina.”

“What?” Sorreli shouted aghast, almost stamping her foot in shock,” That beastly thing was here with the goblins?”

“Not with. The now deceased vampiric count would not have taken kindly to oversight, and I see no reason why the spectre would not have aided him to our demise during the battle. So we have a mysterious third party on our hands. Where is a proper inquisitor when you need one eh Antain?”

“They certainly were scarce whenever I needed them three thousand years ago.” Antain agreed.

“We weren’t talking about when sister Ferri stole your sweet rolls again, are we Antain?” Yissgull asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t judge till you’ve had one of my nan’s sweet rolls! Gah I hope that my people passed the skill on to future generations. Otherwise I’ll have to become a rare baking Paladin.” Chuckles went up from the youth. Ah, to be young, and forget your duties. A rare enough occurrence in Antain’s case to be fair.

“Not that sweet rolls don’t interest me, but shouldn’t something be done to ensure nothing has been left, or another puppet lie dormant in our midst my acolytes?” Xavos asked with a distracted air as he continued to examine the blade, and reach out with his senses towards the magical energies around it.

“Of course boss! Mori, stay and make sure nobody stabs the good teacher… I mean boss in the back. Yissgull you and yours have the bow, my boys will take the stern. Top and down till every bolt is checked,” So saying the Acolytes rushed away to their duties grabbing any stragglers along for the task.

A second later Micath came barging into the room strapping on the last of his issued light leather armor, and panting like a bull while being twice as angry as one. Poor fellow. He’d finally gotten some sleep too. The lad was never going to forgive himself. Xavos just nodded at him, and waved Mori out to join his peers. Micath didn’t say a word, just found a corner behind his charge, and did his best to calm his breathing.

“Sorreli, how many days would we lose if we were to make a detour to,” Xavos took a second to check the map,” Igorthwall?”

“Irorthwall? I hadn’t heard about that doubling lamb jumping backwater for years. Wheres we at we’d lose three days for sure Bossman.” The woman's method of talk was never going to not be irritating to the Arch Paladin. But she was useful, and eager in her own way after all she’d seen. No one could be perfect after all.

“Chart a course and take us there, good lady. It’s time to see what the nature of our shadowy friend’s little visit. Perhaps it may even be a trap. That would be convenient,” Xavos breathed in deep at the comment. He really hoped this was an elaborate snare. Traps meant more chances at interrogations, and interrogations meant they’d be one step closer to unraveling their hidden foes. One undead, and unrepentant sinner at a time.

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