The Bard of Faith Part 8

The Lord’s house was still standing, for the most part, one of its walls were missing, and most of the windows were broken, but everything else seems to be holding together. The floor cracked under the sounds of their boots and the unhealthy layer of dust all over the place moved with them entering the rooms. It looked as if no one had been here for twenty-years after the war had ended. Everything was left the way it was the moment death came to this town, even all the mirrors had been covered to keep the souls of the dying from getting trapped in them.

                Raven used his sword to lift one of the cloths covering the mirror a little but stop himself before pulling it off, just in case. He didn’t believe in the old myth about the dead being locked in mirrors, and yet, something told him not to remove it.

                “Found the maps,” Ariana said from another room. A room that turns out to be the Lord’s study as Raven and the Bard came into it.

                Ariana already had the map rolled out on the table looking over the town, but to her dismay, the map was too old. It didn’t show where the Druid might have lived. They looked around the room for any more maps but nothing. Someone years ago, had come into the study and took all the maps from the shelves.

                “Maybe we can ask one of those ghosts,” Ariana said with a heavy huff of frustration.

                “That exactly might work,” Lacey said.

                Raven nodded as they all heard something move in the house. They stopped moving to wait to hear it again, but nothing move. It could have been the old house moving under the weight of time, but soon the sound grew into footsteps.

                Footsteps coming from above them. Raven moved to the door quietly as Ariana used her skills at being a thief to move out into the hall.

                Whatever was above them was alive and moving around. The sound grew at the thing, or squirrel started to move down the staircase of the house not seeing any of them. They all hide from the squirrel, the leader of the cutthroats who attacked them days ago, came marching down into the lower part of the house.

                He only made it a few steps before he was stopped by Raven’s sword at his throat.

                “Hello, again,” Ariana said from his side as the leader stared at them both hard.

                “How many more are there?” Raven asked.

                “What do you mean?” The leader asked.

                “How many more of your party are there?” Raven asked again.

                “None, I’m the only one here,” he said.

                “Why should we believe you?” Ariana asked, and he shrugged.

                “You can’t.”

                “Right,” Raven agreed. “Lacey tie him up.”

                The chipmunk nodded, and before the leader of the cutthroats knew it, he was tied to a chair sitting in the study. The chair was far too old to hold him well, and Raven was sure it would give out under his weight, so the Knight keep his blade at the ready, while the other two surround the squirrel.

                “What is your name?” Lacey asked.

                “Winnibald,” he said.

                “Alright, Winnibald,” Raven growled, “did you not learn your lesson last time?”

                “Oh, I did,” he said. “I hire better fighters.”

                “Good to know you got something out of it,” Ariana said with a smirk.

                “Why are you here?” Lacey asked. “I don’t think you're stupid enough to come alone.”

                Winnibald glanced around the three of them for a moment and then said, “I live here.”

                “Say again?” The Thief asked.

                “Ghost Stones,” he said looking down, “is my home. It always has been and always will be.”

                “Then why did you try to kill us?” The Bard question him. “We are trying to save it?”

                “And you said hire better fighters,” Raven pointed out with a voice as cold as death. “You are Dagobius Earthbvile.”

                He stared at the hard eyes of the Knight not saying a word, not sure what to say. Raven lifted the end of his sword at Winnibald but didn’t have to order him to speak the squirrel already knew he must tell them the truth.

                “I am not Dagobius Earthbvile,” he said, “that was my father. He was the Druid who tried to save our town from the Arcane Ants but failed to do so, and I am living here among the dead.”

                “How did he try to save them?” Ariana asked recalling what the ghost boy had said before.

                The shame in Winniblad eye flare to life and he said the words softly but spoke them never-the-less, “My mother told my father not to do it, but he felt he had no choice.”

                “What did he do?” Lacey asked.

                “He was going to put a Soul Shield around the town,” Winnibald said, “but didn’t have the manna to cast the spell. So, he used everyone’s in the town souls to help build the shield, everyone but me.”

                “And when the spell failed,” Lacey said with a shocked horror, “it trapped all the souls here.”

                “Yes,” Winnibald said. “He didn’t know the spell caused the ants to attack the town in full force. They broke through the shield by feeding off it, and before anyone knew anything, they killed everyone in the town.”

                “Everyone but you,” Raven said.

                “My father saved me and my mother,” Winnibald hissed at him.

                “Still doesn’t explain why you tried to kill us,” Ariana said.

                “Because I ordered too,” Winnibald told her turning to look her dead in the eyes.

                “By whom?” Raven asked.

                Winnibald turns back to him and before Raven could rise his blade one more time the room filled with heavy darkness causing them all to drop to their knees in fear. Something moved between them right for the chair and at first, Raven believe the monster was freeing Winnibald but when the darkness had left, and they all could once more stand. He saw the squirrel still tied to the chair dead from a cut to the throat.

Author's Note

I’ll try to make this short for the both of us, but I feel, I need to add a little context to my stories on here. All the stories I post on this website are what I call “break stories.” They are either stories I go to when I get stuck in long from novel or stories, I write to explore a world. So, what does this mean? It means I enjoy these stories, but I don’t put everything into them. So, why am I posting them? A fair question and the reason I’m posting my stories on this website is to have fun, to show you my growth but most of all to give you a little taste of the worlds I work in. What does this mean for you? It means you can judge the work as you wish and by all means help me with plot, characters, and building the world, but I ask you to ignore grammar problems as best as you can and the style in which these stories are written. My page on here is my sketchbook and you guys get to see all the rough, nasty parts of my writing.