The Knight of Tanner's Square

4

The Grimm and the Minoans say Mercruxes is a demon. The people believe he has scales, four or twenty eyes depending on who you ask, with claws like an eagle or a panther — the tales differ.

He has coarse hair, a broad, sharp beak, a scorpion’s tail, and the ears of a wolf, the legends say. Mercruxes’ skin secretes venom and his bite will stop a man’s heart in moments. He eats children and sometimes dines on the hearts of evil men and sordid women.

Vaschon has let the minds of the Grimm and our cousins, the Minoan, wander, and may have started these rumors himself. Two millennia have passed since the deceiver walked amongst the living, his corpse damned to become the gatekeeper of Hades to the Minoans in their religious scripture, the Gospel of Xarl.

He is the jailer of the wicked and he punishes the sinners as his penance for the betrayal of the mother and the father. The tales are false because I was there.

Mercruxes in the flesh was beautiful, the fairest of men, and shared a bed with any woman he desired. He was mischievous and sometimes naïve, intoxicated when worshiped, and his pursuit of it was his biggest weakness. He was a fool to flattery and his half-brother knew it.

I never knew Mercruxes as jealous until he crossed paths with the Smiling One, his sworn sword. The pair became inseparable, and soon they became a menace to the lands. Who poisoned whom? No one knows, but in the end, it began the great civil war.

The first race of men tasted blood, then drank it in huge gulps, and when the dust settled, they were alone. The abomination ended in the mother and father abandoning their mortal flesh, and from the heavens, they have looked over us as we have withered from their absence.

I have shed many tears over it, and the Nine have taken over as the masters of what remains. Vaschon believes himself a god, and it’s hard to argue that. The Nine are what remain from the blood of the mother and father. The deception of Mercruxes had handed us this mantle, and I have struggled ever so to keep our race alive.

We thought it best to isolate our kind when the barbarians wandered north, shrouding them with fear and tainting the ignorant to spread the vile rumors of our extinction. Our once beautiful lands are believed to be a land of dead men, ghouls, goblins, and other wicked things to the men of Abingdon. The Nine is now four, our order unknown to the barbarians, the lands called by Xarl as Vailesium.

The Journal of Peregrine Haldock

The Grave

Peregrine watched the crows ahead of him as they circled over the Loreton lands, descending near thickets of trees and vines that had overtaken the ruins of an old village, which had been uninhabited for many decades, possibly centuries.

The recent village their cousins dwelled in was leagues away in a different valley, as the river that once flowed here had shifted.

Time has an odd way of changing civilizations; the environment can change by a few degrees or a rumbling deep beneath the earth can make a river dry up, forcing an entire people to move for survival.

Peregrine had been alive for so long he had seen it happen, and through what he had seen here, one of those unfortunate events had taken place.

The crows flew over the ruins as Peregrine judged what could have been cottages covered with growth surrounding the carcass of a temple, chiseled stone collapsed under beds of moss with trees growing through what used to be its center.

The once sturdy walls were pushed over in piles as the crows circled the overgrown graveyard behind it.

Observing the burial grounds, they were a woven blanket of saplings, ferns, and briars, with headstones still present, half collapsed and broken with many still readable, and some dissolved through time.

The Loretons found it proper to put their loved ones in the earth with a stone to mark them, so they could visit and the dead could linger in the memories of their children and grandchildren. A noble thought, but time has a way of making memories forgotten, and these graves were proof of that.

Peregrine was struggling to stand, shaking as moments passed before he collected himself, wiping the blood from his nose. He had used blood magic to enter through the hedge.

Its strain was almost more than he could bear as he transformed his body into an oncilla, a cat that was common to hunt small prey in these lands.

He changed outside the hedge as Camille tied a small sack around his neck for him to use in case of harm. She was going to stay in Olcott with Vallance and train while he continued his search from Eivar’s memories.

Someone had been here, looting, he realized as he peered into the dug graves. Someone left many bodies in shambles with their bones strewn recklessly. Disturbed thoughts entered his mind, wondering why another had been there. Had another beaten him to it? He had hoped her grave was unmolested.

He found the headstone from memories, it was marked Eivar Farnesse, the name on the mind of the Grimm he took back home. It was odd that he chose to keep the name on the stone as an alias.

When he asked his true name he fought with him for hours, his mindset determined to keep his secret until he relented. His name was Olimar Greenbirch, and all he felt was grief from the Grimm when he finally said it.

Peregrine stood silent, his heart beating in fast thumps, unsure why fear was paralyzing him at this moment as he looked. The grave was disturbed, a hole stood before him, and as he peered slowly into it, and gasped at what it revealed.

It was not a Loreton buried there. The body was taller and the bones looked undisturbed. He rested several minutes, still looking upon the hole, gaining some strength as he climbed inside. It was buried in burlap that was rotted in tatters, only covering the middle section of the bones.

He looked in wonder as to why Olimar buried these bones here, and who it could have been. He slowly removed the linen, glancing at the bones until on the left hand he spotted a ring. Peregrine then inspected the bones more carefully and realized it was the bones of a Grimm.

He then glanced back at the ring and was surprised that it wasn’t taken, but it was covered and whoever robbed the grave must have grown alarmed and left it whole, or maybe something else was found instead. Many thoughts were in his mind as he removed the ring to get a better look at it.

The ring was silver, with four stones, Minoan made with two sapphires and the emeralds and it struck a memory and he dropped the ring, taken aback, mortified so, that he lost his balance into the bank of the grave hole, still gazing at the ring as remorse petrified him.

“It can’t be,” he murmured as he began to weep. It was Lupretia’s ring, a gift from her son, the abomination long ago when Peregrine was first chosen to be in the Order.

He saw it on her hand when he kissed it as a tribute to his appointment, one of his happiest days as his hard work was getting noticed.

Edmund glanced back at the stone, looking at it, then noticing a marking upon it. The mark of Lupretia, three acorns. Peregrine felt like vomiting.

Olimar Greenbirch. That name kept repeating in his thoughts. The man was a paladin in her service, a soldier of Lupretia, and he had been missing since the war. Peregrine had searched the name in their records when he arrived from their journey.

The man never claimed he murdered who was in the grave. Peregrine was sure to ask and he repeated that he only buried it there.

He asked again and again and Ollimar wept and died seconds later. “If Ollimar didn’t kill her, then who did?” he asked in thought. Lupretia was as powerful as Xarl and he had heard tales and seen himself once, that no mere weapon could kill them.

Mercruxes had taken his life, and the Smiling One was executed. His thoughts raced, he had to know and all he had was two memories from Ollimar’s last thoughts.

One was Lucius Vanderlay, the one who betrayed Ollimar. He had to return to Breeston to find him, the name had kept entering into his journey and coincidences were never a thing Peregrine believed in.

Ollimar had told him that he was in the Order, the cult of eunuchs that was known to him in stories, decades ago. They had peculiar skills and were looked down upon in Abingdon. Peregrine had to find this man, unravel his mind, and then eliminate him.

The second was even more disturbing to him, another Grimm who Ollimar called Mero. This Grimm was something that he was yearning to find. Peregrine cursed himself for being so powerless to save Olimar, his memories were something that revealed so many troubling thoughts in his mind.

He had been deceived by Magnus, the one who was leading his people, and he now wanted to uncover why.

“It feels peculiar here?” he whispers to himself, scratching his head while looking around the ruins. “I sense sorcery. Someone has spoken something dark in these lands.”

He grimaced knowing that another mystery had presented itself. Peregrine knew blood magic was beyond the Loreton’s grasp, their cousins feared it and it was something he couldn’t ignore. Peregrine had to seek out this source and determine if this had a role in the uncovered graves in these ruins.

The Priest waited a bit, collecting more strength and recalling old memories from happier times as he gazed at Lupretia’s remains. Her bones were bones, but his imagination still saw the woman.

His goddess, Lupretia, the mother to them all. He looked at her ring, then cried until a fit of shaking gripped him, a pang of guilt rekindled since Olimar Greenbirch came into his life.

“How did we let this unravel? Our wickedness will be damnation far from your side. I remember when you chose me, your last priest, and what a poor choice I became,” he said to her bones.

“You marveled at my father’s work and took me in to add our craft to your order. This land I am standing on has much of our family’s work here. The hedge is still standing sentry over the people like my father said it would.”

“I’m weak, I allowed your son to poison us, and when you needed us, we were trying to replace you. If I could do it all over, I’d have stood with Vinjamin and left the order, and died with him.”

“I loved you like he did, lusted after you. When you showed me your favor, I became smitten. A boy I was then, and as a man, I kept that desire for you. I’m a coward,” he admitted, glancing at her ring as he put it into the small bag Camille gave him.

Wiping away tears, he then used his hands to place the loose earth back on top of her. The task took hours, and he was weary, sweating, and dirt had stuck to his body. Even this is a big bollock. Nothing can ever be easy for me.

Did the Loretons find a relic somehow? If it was a tome, then he needed to take it by force from whoever had it. Thank goodness the trace of sorcery is minor. If a strong source was here, then Vaschon would have been aware of it. It baffled Peregrine.

It was time he found his strength. The time for tears was over. Time for him to leave her, but he swore to her a vow.

“I will find answers and end this,” he whispered.

He left the abandoned village, and after a league, he reached the edge of the woods. Peregrine was fatigued, so he rested, falling asleep and awakening in the dark.

He slumbered for far too long cursing his frailty, and he walked several leagues until he found a barn at the edge of a village that was hidden from the view of the nearby farmer’s cottage. Peregrine found a wool blanket nesting on a stall door and covered his nakedness.

Peregrine rested and was starving fiercely, but it was short as a young Loreton had interrupted his thoughts. The intrusion had snuck away with a lass to talk. He quickly jumped to the loft and hid, hoping to not have to transform. His visit has taken a toll on him already, needing nourishment as he waited.

“That damn Etric arrested Morst again, and a few others, but they were not in the stocks. I wonder what he is doing with them?” the lad said as the couple was taking the wheatgrass from a crib to pile for a place to sit.

They were gossiping about others, and kissing as Peregrine peered in annoyance as they jabbered about.

“I don’t care anymore. Since those hounds are dead, we can get out and enjoy the sunshine.” the younger girl giggled about as the pair then had a long frolic as Peregrine waited until the pair were done.

He had always found their Loreton cousins to be strange, carefree to a fault, they lived under similar rules as what was placed on the Grimm centuries ago by the father Xarl, but were mischievous and liked to act out in prankish manners.

They didn’t have the elegance the Grimm had, they were not lean or tall, and their hair was red or auburn with curls framing laughing eyes of green or blue.

They loved ale but restricted it, so they could concentrate on the fields. They lived by curfews but loved to sneak about when something caught their impulsive desires.

He was relieved as the pair ended their folly, giggling in flirts as he peered at them unnoticed while they cleaned up the traces of their rendezvous. Their faces flushed as he kept watch on them as the girl snuck back to the cottage and the lad scurried back through a grove.

Peregrine transformed into a wren, following the lad until he came unto a yurt built from brush and timber. A crofter the lad was, assisting in the fields as Peregrine noticed a nearby farm on a hillside overlooking the village below.

He waited nearby, knowing the lad would need time to fall asleep so he meandered into the nearby crops, finding a few cucumbers on a vine and devouring them, then spotting a plump yellow squash to quench his hunger as his body famished from the transformations.

He then felt comfortable, sneaking into the yurt as he concentrated, linking his consciousness as he could feel the lads’ heartbeat and his breathing began to echo through his thoughts.

Peregrine knew he was in slumber, and he touched the hand of the lad. The linking made him nauseous, but he steadied himself as the emotions of his subject came to him in a rush.

The first thoughts were always the most recent, and it was all focused on the lass as the encounter was so vivid that Peregrine could feel as if he was inside the woman.

He had to endure as the couple had been doing this for some while and it was an ongoing scenario of lovemaking.

It was difficult for him, the pleasure was pushing Peregrine to remain as the bliss of it stiffened him and he fought, fought hard until he could guide the lad into a calm void.

The whole image went back to dogs, and wolfhounds into a high pile and being set afire. The blaze was enormous and many were gathered around, and Peregrine asked what it meant. “The strangers killed them, they saved the village.” The lad would whisper back.

He asked about the strangers and a deafening howl of dogs overcame the memories and Peregrine was afraid the lad could slip into a nightmare and awaken. He said words in Grimm to soothe him and soon the thoughts went to the village.

It was night and people were screaming as a wagon sped into the plaza. It was blurry as the sight had the lad into a morbid feeling of fright. He saw people grabbing onto someone in the back of a wagon.

The image cleared and as he gazed through the crowd gathered it was of Julius Timmons, the cheery lad from the wards, and he looked to near death as shouts deafened him of the Loreton tongue to help them to the healers.

A gruff voice disturbed him, he knew the voice and it was Harwin, shouting to grab his brother Edmund. The image was horrid, the lads were mangled, screaming in shock as he saw scores of Loretons carrying them inside buildings until another shout broke the disturbing thought.

It came from a Loreton, barking orders, a broad elder who they called Etric as he heard the name earlier from the couple in the barn.

He had kept watch on the scene as women carried in linen and water as Etric shooed away the lads, pointing his finger and ordering him to leave as if Peregrine was standing there that moment.

Peregrine could still view from his eyes as the lad backpedaled from the wagon, people were still scrambling, while his eyes darted in all directions.

He then noticed another wagon, and the driver was tall, another Nuhrish he saw, but when the man turned to the leader Etric, he got a glance at his face and it was like looking at a similar face as the Grimm Ollimar.

The lad then became afraid and ran away as if the man on the wagon was something evil. The image had made the lad stir, and soon he was into a night terror as Peregrine jerked away.

He quickly left the lad and as he scampered out the yurt, he could hear the lad scream in agony. Moments passed as the lad poked his head out his door, retching as Peregrine watched from afar behind vines of snap beans.

His head began to spin and soon he was retching himself, walking away as he had caught the attention of the lad. He could hear him scream for help, calling aloud, who was out there as Peregrine staggered further into the field.

Peregrine had heard enough, and he had a name, so after he composed himself, hidden as he saw the lad run in haste to a nearby farmhouse.

He flew off to find this Etric, turning back into the wren. This man must be an elder and a more agreeable source of information than mischievous lads and silly-hearted maidens.

If he could get to him as he slumbered, then he could read his thoughts, and that would provide what he needed to know.

Soaring above, he would spend the morning seeking any old man he could spot, he was getting dizzy, and a fiery ache was building in the back of his skull.

He had to keep his composure and rest some more soon. If he lost his concentration, he would transform back while in flight, which was the last thing he needed as he sat upon a roof and watched afar from its slanted pitch.

Peregrine stood still to try and recover, but the ache became a throb. He then soared higher, finding another barn while flying amongst the fields.

He thought it best to wait until the next night, enter this farmhouse and wait in a rafter, watching until he heard deep snores, then get the location of Etric’s cottage so he can inquire him very deeply. His mind was focused on Edmund Parsons while changing back himself in the barn’s loft.

His nose was bleeding, also he had blood oozing out of his ears. The Priest’s vision was so blurry that it was a wash of color that shifted, lacking stillness as he sat and rested in straw. A huge hunger had petrified him, and while he plotted on finding some means of nourishment, his vision went black.

Peregrine awoke in bonds, and his eyes were covered as he could detect a faint smell of smoke. He tried to speak but his voice was so cracked it just sounded like a strained grunt.

Who is here, he tried to say. His hands were bound behind him, and he realized that whoever had him understood blood magic.

“I knew you would come back to us Grimm.” a voice said as he lacked the strength to shift amongst the ropes that bound him. “They found you in a sad state in that barn. My people think you are dead, but you aren’t a normal Grimm are you?”

He was in a chair, tied to it and he could feel something pressed to his lips. A reed he realized and he sucked upon it as a broth entered his mouth. His body began to find warmth and a faint strength returned. Peregrine began to breathe deeply as the air added to his recovery.

“I know you need vision and the ability to manipulate our fingers for your sorcery. I have to treat you as hostile.” the voice added. “My name is Etric, and I am the head elder of our people.”

The Loreton smoked for a moment longer as Peregrine could hear him inhale, puffing, and he blew smoke beside him which made him wince as he breathed deep.

Peregrine tried to put him at ease. “I am not here in malice. An odd circumstance has brought me here.”

“How can that explanation soothe me? How much have you gathered from the villagers?” Etric asked in a concerned tone. “We have a lad who claims a dark spirit attacked him in his sleep. I assume that was you. I have read in our archive that Priests can invoke the ability to read thoughts, a dark act.”

“I need more nourishment to continue.” Peregrine weaky replied. He sat in silence as Etric sighed in worry and after a few moments he could hear him move, and then he could feel the reed against his lips again. He drank and then coughed as the broth was from an animal, and Grimm hated meat in any form.

“You will have to endure that I’m afraid. My hospitality has grown sour to intruders.”

Peregrine had gained some ability to move his mouth, his tongue was no longer dry and sore. “I meant not to disturb the lad, but I overheard him talking to another.

The talk of dogs and I sensed sorcery. I had to investigate the disturbance before others might discover it, far worse than me.” he remarked, full of shame that he had been caught and held captive so easily. If his fellow priests could see him now, well, Vaschon would happily kill him.

Peregrine was alone, and the dread of it had made him eager to uncover any truths. The pathetic part was he was weak and had no confidence in where to begin.

“I am Peregrine Haldock, Priest of the Nine and son to Folsum Haldock, creator of the hedge that protects you,” he murmured, it was the only words he could say at the moment.

He had just discovered the only woman, the very goddess he obsessed over had been lying in a grave. The way of the Grimm was over, they now lived under the lies her remaining son had told.

He wept as the reed was placed under his lips. He refused the broth, asking for the Loreton to cut his wrist and give him no further nourishment. “Let my end be now,” he pleaded.

“Peregrine Haldock was a man deeply respected here, our archives mention. What has brought you to such despair?” Etric asked.

“Enough to worry me. The others do not share the same respect I do for other men.” His words only made the Loreton more concerned, as Peregrine’s hands shook, so he begged the man to touch him, let him put his thoughts into him to make him understand what tortured him.

The man complied, and he felt the man’s hands upon his shoulder. Peregrine used his remaining strength to focus, and his breathing slowed as he slipped into a deep trance.

The art was flowing through him as he let his thoughts surrender. He could sense the Loreton shudder as a frigid bolt flew into him, creating contact with their minds as he could see the images from Peregrine’s memories.

His thoughts informed him, showing him the grave of the mother as he saw it, and the man broke out in tears. “She has been with us all these years?” he spoke as a wail came from his mouth.

The man’s sorrow affected him as tears fell from his eyes, and he had to let himself loose or thoughts from his past would flood the man’s mind. Thoughts he couldn’t allow the Loreton to witness.

He composed himself, back to the war. The elder stood paralyzed as he watched the memories from when Peregrine discovered with his fellow priests that Xarl was not in this world anymore, including the bickering and hatred from Vaschon that sent such a pain in the man, he jerked away from him and collapsed from the intrusion.

The blindfold was loosened from his fall. An agony twisted the elder’s face as he ran to a wash basin nearby and emptied his stomach. Peregrine waited as Etric coughed for several moments, heaving hard until his body relaxed to recover.

“I am forced to tell you everything,” Etric informed him while cleaning his face with linen.

“The sorcery is from one of our own., he mentioned, then the elder unfolded a tale of a troublemaker in his village, his use of sorcery to control their hounds, and a man he named Mero along with the others he had seen in the prior man’s thoughts.

“Something with deep magic was buried with the mother,” Etric suggested. “And I wonder if this Mero has discovered it; he had been in those woods foraging before he departed. Tortoise leaf grows thick there and he had remained several days as the lads recovered from their wounds”

“I know the other lads,” Peregrine admitted. He saw no reason to keep secrets. “We have crossed paths before, and it creates a dilemma for me, Etric.”

Peregrine then asked the man about this Mero, and his suspicions disturbed him. This man was a Grimm and with a look similar to Ollimar Greenbirch. When Etric enlightened him that he possessed a knowledge of the hedge, then he knew.

Only a paladin of Lupretia could know the way through. Ollimar was a paladin, and now there were two. If his master knew this, he’d be in a panic.

“Is this Mero a friend?” Peregrine asked.

Etric despised the man, and it provided hope to Peregrine.

“Will this man return?”

“He will. We have an arrangement. He believes he is sly, and I don’t know that he is a Grimm. He stays in Lonoke and then comes here. If you plan on killing him, it’d be a favor if he became a corpse,” Etric pleaded.

“The other lads are of no concern, but I can’t stop you if you eliminate them. Please, I beg you to spare us. If you hold any fondness for your cousins here, then help us. Our hedge is no good anymore, your power has grown too great.”

“The lads,” the Priest scoffed, “though I have a queer question. Did you notice anything odd about them?” Peregrine asked. “I have seen disturbing images from one of your people of an attack. A deep fear was in him, and I witnessed carnage?”

“Odd? Why, by the blessed mother, yes. The Nuhrish boys heal as if they have the gods’ blood in them. They’re not like normal barbarians, but they are not like us, either.” Etric says with a exuberance.

“Those hounds inflicted heavy wounds on them. Both should have bled out, and they left without a mark. The Breeston lads…” Etric let out a pained sigh.

“We buried one, a chubby one with a bald head and a beard named Osmond, and the skinny lad lost an arm.” Etric rambled. “They had given so much to us. They’re good lads, just prone to youthful pursuits.”

“Thank you for your frankness,” Peregrine interrupted him. “Can you care for the mother’s grave? I have covered it the best I could.”

“You know, cousin, your folly didn’t just cost you. Our numbers have dropped. She birthed us, and only a bit over twenty thousand of our kind remain.”

If Etric only knew how sad the Grimm had become. They were mongrels now, a mix of the barbarian blood keeps what remains. The last prank Mercruxes played on them.

A twisted jape as only the last four of the original Nine were remaining from Xarl’s loins. The Loretons came from the mother, she birthed them during a tift with Xarl when she took a Grimm as her lover to enrage him.

Their offspring began the seeds that eventually became thousands by the time of the Grimm civil war.

“I’ve always desired to be a chieftain. Now I have it, and I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Here I am, standing helplessly to you, Master Peregrine, in hopes you never return. Our fate is yours, I fear,” the elder remarked, sitting in a chair defeated.

“What am I to do?” he asked as Peregrine’s thoughts were deep in the past, full of remorse for Etric, for he was as hopeless as the Loreton at the moment

“We keep what is said between us a secret,” Peregrine replied as the elder gave him a bewildered look. “I have to find this Mero and see what he knows before I can attempt a solution.”

The elder requested he sit, and let him provide proper provisions as he offered him a bed to rest. Peregrine accepted his offer as he sat, waiting with more questions while Etric went up a nearby stairs.

He had noticed he was in the cellar, surrounded by baskets full of root vegetables. He reached for a nearby turnip and bit into it, cursing his luck since he first arrived in Breeston, numb in life and comfortable living inside the prison Vaschon had created for his people.

“Damn you, Olimar Greenbirch, for dying in that ward,” he mumbled.