"As the sun sets, Knight, I will be back with the strength darkness gives me. Prepare to feel my fangs when your sword and cross mean nothing," warned the creature's disembodied voice.
The green mist had blown away with the wind.
The remembered words of the monster sent new strength into the knight's legs. He had to find somewhere to hide before night fell. He wondered if he should again try to wake Larom, but before nothing had roused her from the unnatural coma. Holy water, healing potions, even gentle slaps had failed to open her eyes.
As the mists lifted before him, the answer to several prayers appeared ahead in a large valley. At the valley's center was a walled city.
Surely within the walls of that place there would be protection from the vampire.
The duty of the first speaker was to get the congregation quiet and ready for Friar Whelm's sermon. During the first speech, people could still walk in, as latecomers often did, but when the White Friar spoke, no one was allowed to disturb his message. Though he demanded absolute attention, Friar Whelm never gave a long sermon, for he believed temple pews and worshipers'bottoms weren't meant to be long in contact. First speakers,
on the other hand, often weren't as mercifuclass="underline" today's first speaker, a merchant, rambled on pointlessly.
"Estrangia, my brothers and sisters, is a dark, gloomy city cowering behind its tall walls. Fear has governed the people of the city for centuries. Fear's name is Crave, a vampire who considers our metropolis his dinner plate and has feasted well for over four hundred years.
"In the past, those bold enough to attack the undead monster have found themselves transformed into his minions. Today, such bold folk are gone from the dreary streets of Estrangia.
"In the past, those brave enough to try to move elsewhere found themselves drained of blood before they left the valley. Today, there are no brave people rousing the populace with talk of stakes and crosses.
"In the past, those stout of heart enough to remain in Estrangia prospered. And they are we: enduring, hardy souls living under the fear of the vampire. Today, Estrangia grows, filled with the lucky and not so lucky as the vampire Crave feeds once a week.
"Our Temple of White Hope presents the only bright spot in our lives. Legends tell of the founding of the temple, even before the coming of Crave. One day a white-robed friar came within the walls of the city and brought hope and love with him. From that time on and down through the centuries there has always been a single such friar serving the needs of the growing city.
"Our temple is now the oldest building in the city. Its white marble walls glow with a holy power, even in the darkest part of the night. Its single spire rises above the gray and black buildings around it, and nothing is taller. The bell in the spire brings worshipers to the daily service. Ringing clear and heavenly over the other sounds of the town, the bell welcomes the middle of the day.
"No matter how large the city grows, there always seem to be enough benches to welcome worshipers into the spotless temple walls. Not everyone in Estrangia worships at the temple, but everyone respects the good friar who works here. Whenever Crave takes a victim, the good friar visits the families, even if they don't believe in the God of White Hope. His comforting words make things seem better somehow.
"Let's raise our voices in song as the last of us enter to hear the words of the friar."
In reply to these words, the congregation began to sing, and the melody filled the temple to overflowing.
Once the parishioners finished singing, they sat. It was the normal crowd of people today. The poor tended to rest in the back where no one could see their threadbare clothes, while the rich took up positions in the front for just the opposite reason. Kids, being kids, fidgeted beside their parents. Sometimes they were put on their mothers'laps, and that would quiet them. Sometimes a caring father would give them a sweet to nibble on during the service.
There was one special white pew right at the front of the temple.
It was for the friar's favorites.
Every service, several distinguished worshipers were ushered by the friar himself to the front of the temple. All sorts sat up there at one time or another: rich, poor, meek, mild, young, old — though for some reason there weren't many old people in the congregation.
Those sitting in that special pew were smiled upon by the faithful. At each service, Friar Whelm explained the act of kindness that entitled each worshiper to a place of honor on the front pew. Sometimes a child had been kind to his little sister or had helped around the house. At other times someone had given gold to a soup kitchen. Always, the person's good deed had aided the community.
On rare occasions during the service, a spark would emerge from the friar's eyes or hands and float out to one of the people sitting in the special pew. The spark was a sign from the gods that the person was being blessed. It could happen anytime during the service, though lately it had been occurring right after the first hymn. While Friar Whelm was speaking, a white light would flow from him and touch one of the people on the special pew. The person would fall over, unconscious, and others, hoping the spark would touch them, would joyfully catch the lucky soul. That person would awake tired but happy a few minutes after the pale spark spewed out. It was also said that these blessed individuals looked older and wiser from the touch. Parishioners tended to be nice all week long with the hope of sitting in the special pew and being recognized by the gods.
Now all eyes turned eagerly toward the front of the temple, where Friar Whelm stood in long, flowing white robes, preparing to speak. To his right, in a pearly marble alcove, stood the ten-foot-tall statue of the God of White Hope. The snowy, cold stone robes of the statue were just like the pearly ones Friar Whelm always wore, robes that remained clean no matter what work the good friar performed. The short, snowy hair and balding head of the god resembled those of Friar Whelm as well. Some said this was the merest coincidence. Others whispered it would be grand if an incarnation of the god actually serviced their temple. Many were oblivious to such talk, but proclaimed for everyone to hear that the friar gave a damn good sermon.
He began to speak, and his pure voice reached out to everyone; he never needed to shout. Today the talk centered on lost ones.
Three days ago, Crave had taken a little girl, and her family sat in the special pew for this service. Their grief, clearly written in their tired eyes and slumped bodies, was shared by many around them. Several times during his sermon, the friar approached them and repeatedly prayed for the little girl. He spoke eloquently, almost wistfully about the unsullied innocence of the lost daughter. Speaking with the sound of grief in his voice, Whelm sermonized about the little girl, about the intelligence in her eyes and the energy in her tiny body. He reached out to the parents and touched them, tears rolling down his full cheeks. Both parents began to quietly sob, bending over with exhaustion and grief. Ever louder, ever more vigorously, he eulogized the power of this family and their strength in loss.
Just when he was coming to the main point of his sermon, the doors burst open at the back of the temple. A huge warrior, outfitted in plate mail, strode boldly through. In his arms he carried a beautiful, unconscious woman.
"Someone please help us!" The knight took three more steps and collapsed from exhaustion. Even then, as he fell, he made sure the woman took no harm.
Men rose to remove the warrior from the sacred place, but Friar Whelm waved them back. "He seeks aid, and he could not have known of the weapons ban in the temple. What is your name, Sir, and what has happened to you and this fair one?"