Alton attempted to move away, but Solon grabbed his arm and held him fast. “I think you’d best answer the lad; he doesn’t appear to be in a mood for foolishness.”
Alton glanced at Jazhara, whose expression was cold, then to Kendaric, who also looked as if he were running out of patience. Suddenly the farmer blurted, “I’ll tell you everything! It wasn’t my idea. I was just an honest farmer, minding my own business when he came to me. I trusted him; everyone does. He offered me gold, lots of gold, to poison my own cows and blame the witch, so I agreed. She’s just one old lady, and she’s going to die soon, anyway. But I didn’t know what he really was. I thought he was human when I agreed to work for him. I didn’t know - “ Suddenly the man’s tumbling words were cut off by a strangled, gurgling sound as the chain around his neck abruptly tightened. Alton staggered backward, his eyes bulging and his face turning crimson as he clawed at his neck. Solon found himself holding the man upright as his knees buckled, and he let the farmer slowly sink to the ground. Blood began to flow from the wound in Alton’s neck. As the farmer’s eyes rolled up into his head, the sounds of muscles snapping and bones breaking could be heard. A moment later, the farmer’s head rolled free from his body and dropped to the ground. Solon released the man’s arm and the body crumpled to the dust.
James stared at the corpse and then at the darkening sun. He motioned for the others to follow and hurried toward a small building on the edge of the village common. Upon reaching it, they saw it was a simple church with a large, open entrance. No benches or pews were provided, so the congregation stood, listening to a man in white robes, who must surely be Father Rowland.
“Again, I say, if we wait much longer, we will be swept away by a tide of evil. And where, must I ask, is the justice in this? I will tell you where justice lies. It lies in the strength of our arms, the purity of our souls, and the burning that will rid the world of the witch’s evil!”
Several of the townspeople shouted agreement.
“He sounds a wee bit harsh for a priest of Sung,” Solon observed.
James nodded. “He does seem to be in an awful hurry to get rid of the’witch.’”
“And to have others do the deed for him,” Jazhara added.
The priest’s voice rose. “Some say this witch has summoned wolves who walk like men at night, blood-drinkers who devour the souls of the innocent, turning them into monsters like themselves! I say she has summoned darkness incarnate — spirits so foul they drain the life from good people like you and me. Either way, the blame for this lies on her doorstep. This darkness approaching signals the final attack! We must move now!”
Some of the men cheered and shouted threats, but James could discern their fear for many of the responses were halfhearted and weak. He pushed through the villagers to stand before the priest.
“Welcome, stranger,” said Father Rowland. He was a man of middle height, with dark hair and a small, pointed beard. Around his neck hung a simple ward of the Order of Sung. His white robes showed faint stains and dirt, as if old and oft-washed. “Have you come to help rid us of this blight?”
James regarded him steadily. “I have, but I doubt the blight is what you say.”
The priest looked at James, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”
“Alton is dead,” James said.
The priest looked shocked. “Farmer Alton is dead? Another victim of that wicked woman!” Looking past James, the priest shouted, “Is this not enough? Isn’t it time for us to act?”
More voices were raised in agreement, but James heard Jazhara shout, “James, be wary! There is something not right here!”
James looked and saw that several of those who were shouting had a vacant expression, their staring eyes fixed and lifeless. James turned toward the priest, then with unexpected swiftness, reached out and grabbed at the amulet around the man’s neck. With a single yank, he tore it away and held it up. Before his eyes it shifted and changed, from the benign icon of Sung to a hand holding a black pearl.
“These are servants of the Dark One! They must die!” shouted the priest, his hands reaching for James’s throat, fingers bent like talons.
James tried to jump backward, but suddenly was seized by hands, holding him in place. He could hear Jazhara shouting, “The people are innocents! They are possessed! Try not to harm them!”
James felt the priest’s fingers at his throat and shouted, “I’ll try to keep that in mind!” He let his body go limp and dropped away, the priest’s fingers slipping over his head for a moment. From the floor, James could not draw his sword, but he could reach the dagger that was tucked in the top of his right boot. He drew it and slashed upward, striking the priest in the leg.