Rancorr's Tales
Comeuppance, Part 2.

I awoke, some time later, in the care of a kind family. They tried to nurse me to full health, but as soon as I was able, I left their hospitality behind. My only thoughts were of my father. The family had told me I was the only person they found alive. That news grieved me. It grieved me terribly. I had to see for myself.

The scene was horrible. Twisted, broken bodies lay strewn about the remains of our caravan. Many of them had been visited by scavengers both of wealth and of flesh. As I stumbled my way through the wretchedness, a squadron of Lazaric Militia came to investigate the incident. They tried to make me leave, but I would not. I told them who I was, so they would not interfere with my grim task, but only garnered more questions. At the end of the day, I was strangely relieved. My father's body was not among the dead.

The militia managed to extract enough information from me to understand the violent events. At the mention of the Blood Chalice, their demeanor changed. It appeared they would not pursue the matter any further than writing up useless paperwork. They would not seek justice, it seemed. Nor would I.

I still held out a little hope my father remained alive, but I could not find a reason why. Judging by their ferocity and murderous ways, it was obvious my father, valiant though he was, told them all they wanted to know. They had wanted the damned gauntlet we'd purchased in Lazari. They undoubtedly had it by then, and what purpose would my father serve them? He was dead, I feared. Maybe, for some reason, he was alive, I hoped. Yet what I was to undertake had less to do with rescue and more to do with revenge.

There would be a reckoning. Heedless of the danger, I would bring death to the Blood Chalice. On the souls of my parents, that I swore.

I first investigated the old, junk collector in Lazari, and began to trace the origins of this "Guantlet of Ridain". He knew precious little, as did the sages. That approach seemed time consuming, if not fruitless. I chose another tactic. I searched for the Blood Chalice clan, or cult, or whatever, itself.

This, too, proved no easy task. Most knew nothing of the Blood Chalice, or this Gruman. Those who did know something, feared them greatly, and were unwilling to speak of the matter. Yet, I pressed on, gathering up shavings of information until I could track them to their lair. Wherever it was, it was not in Lazari, I managed to find out. So, once again, I took to the road. Except this time, I traveled the lands to trade, not goods, but suffering. Suffering and death...

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January 25, 2000. Copyright Angelo Barovier, 1997-2000.