‘The Orb is within it,’ said the captured priest.
‘Oh, Pereus, how could you be so craven?’ asked the elderly man.
‘I don’t want to die. Is that so terrible?’ the prisoner replied.
‘You will die anyway,’ said the old priest, sadly. ‘This knight has no intention of letting you live. There is not an ounce of mercy in him.’
‘That is not true,’ wailed the prisoner, swinging towards Winter Kay.
‘Ah, but it is,’ the knight told him, drawing his sword. The little priest tried to run, but Winter Kay sprang after him, delivering a ferocious blow to the back of the man’s head. The skull cracked open. The priest crumpled to the stone floor. ‘Is that truly the Orb of Kranos?’ Winter Kay asked.
‘Aye, it is. Do you have any inkling of what that means?’
‘It is a relic of ancient times. A crystal ball, some say, through which we can see the future. Show it to me.’
‘It is not crystal, Winter Kay. It is bone.’
‘How is it you know my name?’
‘I have the Gift, sir knight, though at this moment I wish I did not. So kill me and be done with it.’
‘All in good time, priest. My arm is tired from constant work today. I’ll let it rest awhile. Show me the Orb.’
The elderly priest stepped away from the table. ‘I have no wish to see it. The box is not locked.’
Winter Kay strode forward. As he reached out for the lid he realized the box was not made of wood at all, but was cast from some dark metal. ‘What are these symbols etched upon it?’ he asked.
‘Ward spells. The Orb radiates evil. The box contains it.’
‘We shall see.’ Winter Kay flipped open the lid. Within the box was an object wrapped in black velvet. Putting down his bloody sword Winter Kay reached in and lifted it out. Carefully he folded back the cloth. The priest was right. It was no crystal ball. It was a skull, an iron circlet upon its brow. ‘What nonsense is this?’ demanded Winter Kay. Reaching out he touched the yellowed brow. The skull began to glow, as if a bright candle had been lit within its hollow dome. Winter Kay felt a powerful surge of warmth flow along his fingers and up his arm. It was exquisite. It continued to flow through his body, up through his chest and neck and into his head. He cried out with the pleasure of it. All weariness from the day of slaughter fell away. He felt invigorated.
‘This is a wondrous piece,’ he said. ‘I feel reborn.’
‘Evil knows its own kind,’ said the old man.
Winter Kay laughed aloud. ‘I am not evil, fool. I am a Knight of the Sacrifice. I live to destroy evil wherever I find it. I do the work of the Source. I cleanse the land of the ungodly. Now tell me what magic has been placed in this skull.’
‘Only what was always there. That. . . that creature was once a mighty king. A great hero destroyed him and freed the world of his evil. However, the darkness within him cannot die. It seeks to reach out and corrupt the souls of men. It will bring you nothing but sorrow and death.’
‘Interesting,’ said Winter Kay. ‘There is an old adage: the enemy of my enemy must therefore be my friend. Since you are named by the church as the enemy, then this must be a vessel for good. I find no evil in it.’
‘That is because its evil has already found you.’
‘And now you begin to bore me, old man. I shall give you a few moments to make your peace with the blessed Source – and then I shall send you to Him.’
‘I will go gladly, Winter Kay. Which is more than can be said for you, when the one with the golden eye comes for you.’
Winter Kay’s sword swept up, then down in a murderous arc. Having been blunted by a day of murder the blade did not completely decapitate the old man. Blood sprayed across the room. Several drops splashed to the table, spattering the skull. Light blazed from the bone. As Winter Kay gazed upon it an ethereal face seemed to form for a brief moment. Then it faded.