Chapter 11:
The last two weeks didn't pass too fast, even though the main part of my days consisted of nothing much else but reading and sleeping.
Though the day right after the field trip late at night, was by far the worst of them all. I slept until the afternoon of that day and don't get me wrong, it was a good dreamless sleep..., yet what came afterwards... Whitemane insisted on an answer from me. An answer for a question I knew I couldn't respond to. I don't know whether this was the right thing to do, but in the end I told her that I would rather study alone until the High Inquisitor returned. In return she said I would be missing out on many things because 'the old man', as she calls him, would not even teach me half of the stuff she had in store for me. And for a change I'm almost certain she's actually only taking about spells.
Nevertheless I kept to my point and wanted to study alone. She did try to persuade me for a while, of course, but she couldn't convince me with her methods. I still wonder what that look on her face meant. She looked disappointed and angry, but also somehow knowing, scheming. I just don't tell, but it clearly worries me, unsettles me even..., especially as she usually does not show a single emotion that could give away her true feelings or point of view.
The next day I went to the library returning all the books about the dragon flights, in return I took as many books about the Holy Light and the holy arts with me as I was allowed. I knew I had to make some progress at least.
On all those walks I took through the grounds of the monastery, I've never met Isillien again. Not once. He used to wander around a lot, basically all the time he could spare. But I came up with my own explanation soon enough, maybe Whitemane sent him back to Hearthglen.
I started reading those books the same day. With no time for pointless distractions I also put aside the one the High Inquisitor gave me right before he left.
I could only wonder when they would return. And this question still keeps bothering even right now. They said something about two to three weeks and if they are still on schedule, they should arrive in Brill today or at least tomorrow. I dearly hope there weren't any complications. Then again... how can I question the Ashbringer? No undead would ever be a match for him. They burn away just by glancing at the sword.
Northdale should have been cleaned from the undead since the midst of last week already. Once I settle down when I grow old, I want nothing more but to live there again... Maybe even in my old house, at least should it be vacant.
But right now there are other things that need my attention more than these frail daydreams. Currently, again I sit on my bed reading, yet my thoughts are driven off again and again. I can't really help it. Though I have to say I learned some new things about healing spells and the holy arts during the last weeks and how it is also called divine magic in some regions. But if I am truly honest to myself..., I already heard almost everything that's in these books from Whitemane in just that one single lesson.
I'm already starting to crave the guiding hand of a teacher... even though she'd be the only in question for this position. I don't know what I should do. I just don't know...
She was right all along. I need a teacher... A guide at least, somebody who points me into the right direction. But I am still too afraid of her, her methods and most of all what may become of me. I have an obligation to fulfill!
But ... on the other hand, do I?
Damn her! The only thing she achieved until now is that I question myself and my beliefs even more than before.
Yet still..., somehow... It felt good being able to cope with the threat. I killed the undead and it was me alone! I'd be lying if I said otherwise.
I was able to do something alone for the first time in my life! And I came to be somewhat proud of me for a change.
Yet I am sure the High Inquisitor would not approve of the methods, neither Whitemane's to push me that far, nor mine giving in to her. And since the first time Whitemane told me that I would not be able to control the holy arts the way I was now, I've started to have more doubt in myself than ever before. It only makes things worse!
DAMN IT! I need to focus!
But I can't! I don't know what to do! I'm more restless than ever.
Is that what she wanted? Making me realize that I'm not able to do the things I want to do? That I'm not able to achieve anything on my own?
I mean... I..., I felt a part of the power, the brute force that ended the existence of that undead, but I..., I'd rather be an honest cleric.
I came here to heal, to help... not to destroy.
I feel helpless and it's exactly what I didn't want to experience. I wanted to grow... to be more than a burden.
But..., no I can't. No! I won't ask Whitemane for help. I will not do the things she wants me to do! I did so long enough..!
It's the call of the bell high up in the tower the cathedral that interrupts my thoughts.
Why striking the bell now? It is in the middle of the afternoon, isn't it?
Something important must have occurred, there's no other explanation.
Maybe the Ashbringer has returned? That would be great news! Northdale and all the other towns and cities free from the undead? I stand up and rush to the door of my room immediately. Outside I see how people are leaving their chamber with a certain hectic to it and make their way over to the cathedral.
I close the door behind me and join the masses on their way. It is a clouded and windy day.
The sound of the bell is menacing, to say the least.
I enter the cathedral with all the others, our expectations growing endlessly. I try to get a seat as close to the altar as possible. It looks as if almost all the guards have been pulled of duty to attend here too. There are far more people inside this room than usually during the morning prayers.
What is going on?
There are whispers coming from everywhere. The crowd seems in an uproar, even if only a silent one. I wonder what they are all talking about. I guess only rumors but, well... everybody is tense... everybody curious.
Then it happens, the door behind the altar slowly opens.
Is it Whitemane that comes out to tell us that the undead in the kingdom of Lordaeron have been successfully annihilated? Or maybe even the Ashbringer himself claiming his victory over the Scourge?
I'm so excited.
A few seconds pass as every quiets down, then I see somebody. Blonde hair with an orange toning, definitely a Mograine, but... this..., this is not the Ashbringer Alexandros. Is this... one of his sons? I've never seen them before.
He carefully walks up to the altar, his eyes directed towards the ground.
He swallows but starts speaking without raising his head shortly afterwards. His voice is shaking.
Members of the Scarlet Crusade
You have gathered here to hear the call of a weeping son and brave warrior.
Something terrible has happened as we were on our venture to bring relief and salvation upon the kingdom of Lordaeron.
The Ashbringer has fallen.
We - my father the Ashbringer himself, High Inquisitor Fairbanks and myself - were separated from our party within the ruins of Stratholme.
We sought to retreat, yet outside of the fallen city an army of undead was awaiting us.
My father fought bravely. But there were just far too many for him to stand against.
High Inquisitor Fairbanks was the first to fall of us three, ambushed by undead from behind. I was unable to save him, to even aid him by any means.
My father slew many ghouls and other foul creatures on that day. But they were too numerous and he was overwhelmed in the end. Yet he stood his ground long enough so I, his own flesh and blood would be able to survive and retrieve the mighty blade from the undead horde, carrying it to a safe haven.
I saw how my father fell to the undead monstrosities and heard his voice as he called out for me to escape.
It is a miracle I made it here alive.
I was pursued by them for a long time, the rattling breath of the dead grazing my neck, the moaning of the ghouls ringing in my ears. It drove me into never stopping for three whole days, not at daytime nor night. After that I took shelter for a few hours in an abandoned farm house within the fields north of Andorhal.
My fellow members of the Scarlet Crusade
Here I stand in front of you full of grief. Grief because of the loss of my father. Grief because of the loss of the greatest warrior of the Scarlet Crusade.
I beg you all to share this grief with me and my little brother Darion, for a legend has died only so few days ago.
He talks slowly and rather quietly. His speech is pervaded by shorter and longer pauses.
I can't believe what I just heard... the Ashbringer has fallen? But wasn't he so strong? No undead could possibly come even near the blade without being burned to mere ashes.
And the High Inquisitor dead too! What should I do now? Be taught by Whitemane?
Again the thoughts in my head turn to complete chaos. My dreams of an undead-free Northdale shattered in an instance. And now I just sit there staring at the altar and Mograine's son standing next to it, his head hanging low.
Void is filling up my mind. It's growing larger by the second.
And amongst this nobody noticed how the doors to the cathedral had opened behind us.
"Share your grief? With whom? YOU?" A cloaked figure has entered, "MURDERER!" He calls out with the voice of an old man, which sounds familiar to me. The young Mograine standing in front looks shocked.
"I saw everything Renault. EVERYTHING! YOUR LIES AND YOUR BETRAYAL! The undead didn't attack you, boy..." The man slowly walks towards the altar. "You were the one who plunged the blade of the Ashbringer through your father's chest in cold blood!"
Whispers quickly start arising from everywhere.
"Why Renault? Why did you do that to your own father!" the man asks, his voice starting to tremble.
Renault takes a step back as the man approaches even further.
"It..., it cannot be. I saw how you fell to the undead, Fairbanks!"
Fairbanks removes the hood of his cloak. His skin is pale, almost as white as the winter's veil upon the lands; blood veins clearly visible in his face.
His eyes seem strangely darker than before.
"Heresy!" Is the first thing Renault Mograine cries out ridden by panic and fear, "Guards... guards! This is not the High Inquisitor Fairbanks! This is a mere puppet of the Scourge! Remember the teachings of my father! He tries to spread the plague amongst us! Contain it immediately!"
Armed warriors immediately come rush towards Fairbanks from both sides the moment the young Mograine closes his mouth again.
The guards grab the cloaked man that seems to be Fairbanks by his arms and drag him out of the cathedral forcefully.
"Renault, YOU TRAITOR!" He yells as he is being removed. "Pray to the light that your brother never finds out, WRETCHED MONSTER!"
The young Mograine stands still and silent next to the altar for a moment longer, the expression on his face showing how indeed shocked he is.
Most people are now looking back at him after the front doors are closed again.
As Renault notices it, he stands up straight again, trying to hold his posture, looking around hectically.
"My..., my fellow members of the Crusade That..., that there was not F-Fairbanks! It was just..., just a mere puppet of the Scourge!" he stutters at first but slowly gets his mind together again.
"Do not be tricked by its appearance! The Holy Light will guide us!"
He ends his sentence abruptly only to turn around and rushing away into the back with a fast pace.
What did just happen? I can't believe what I just saw..., or furthermore, I don't even understand what I did see. What's going on?
People here talk rather seldom, but this time, everybody is starting to whisper. I don't hear what they are saying but I don't really want to know it either. Though what I can tell for sure is that I'm not only one who does not know to do now, or what to make of... this...
But for right first of all I choose to go back to my room trying to think about what this was all about, trying my hardest to understand.
I'm the middle of the crowd as it slowly moves out of the cathedral. It feels as if I'm shoved onwards by a steady flowing stream of people that hectically separate once out of the building.
Still I have to try my best to get out of this mass of people in the hallway where my room is successfully. I give it my best to stop, but I get literally dragged on by the stream. In moments like this I wonder how many people there are in this monastery.
Once I managed to get out of the crowd and hurry into my room, I close the door behind me fast, locking it directly afterwards.
Then it all comes pouring down me again. I take a seat on my bed and fall to the thoughts.
Was that really the High Inquisitor or just an undead puppet controlled by the Scourge to lure us into a trap by spreading its disease, I come to wonder. Or did he, or ... it, actually speak the truth? And shouldn't it be heresy only thinking about this possibility?
I guess many people are thinking the same things as I do just now.
Father, mother ... what would you two do?