Lord Ki Kalendeen winced as he felt the wound. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a dagger, still in its sheath. He handed it to David. "Don't be afraid to use it. Take care of Liam."
"Where are you going?"
Alexander rounded the corner, handing a broadsword to his father.
"We're going to attack them from outside. I want you to stay put. The Bishop is rounding up the children and I want you to go with him."
A look of hurt surprise came of David's face. "No! I want to come with you! I know how to fight!"
"David! Don't argue. Do as I say! Liam may need you to carry him." Lord Ki Kalendeen pointed to Liam's unconscious form on the ground. "Now open the door."
Both men readied their swords and motioned for David to open the door. David threw the door leading outside open and the two men began to charge. The sight of a walking skeleton swinging a halberd towards them stopped them in their tracks. All three of them froze in surprise and fear.
"Lord, have mercy," muttered Lord Ki Kalendeen under his breath. Behind the skeleton stood several men, all in Ki Kalendeen livery and all with various wounds over different parts of their bodies. A blank stare was the only facial expressions they showed. Behind them stood a man in a plain brown robe obviously directing the attack.
The skeletal warrior started walking towards the open door. The man behind him stepped forward shouting. "NO! Don't go inside, you idiot!"
The skeleton stepped through the threshold onto the holy ground of the chapel. A blue glow surrounded it and caused it to go stiff. A second later, it fell apart, bones clattering to the floor.
Lord Ki Kalendeen slammed the door closed. "David, run into the sanctuary and tell Lord Branvold that we are under attack by undead soldiers. Bolt this door as soon as we're outside and fill your flask with holy water. It may protect you if the need arises." He then threw open the door again and charged out, sword above his head. "GOD GRANT US VICTORY THIS DAY!" Alexander charged out after him, pulling the door shut on his way out.
David decided not to bolt the door, seeing the effect holy ground had upon the skeleton. Slowly, he opened the door back to the sanctuary. Smoke poured into the hallway and he stepped back, putting a hand over his stinging eyes and coughing. Reaching down, he tore off a long strip of his red and gold wedding robe and wrapped it around his mouth and nose. He reached into his belt and pulled out his flask. Opening it, he poured his tea on the stone floor. He quickly filled it with some of the holy water in the container beside the door. Taking a deep breath of the fading clean air, he darted into the smoke-filled sanctuary, taking five steps and tripping over a body. He landed hard on the blood-drenched stone floor, barely having time to throw his hands in front of him to break the fall. He lifted his head up, only to see the form of his mother, lying on the ground with an arrow protruding through her chest. He got up to his knees and touched her hand. She feebly turned her head and looked into his eyes.
David pulled his face cloth from his nose and mouth. "Oh, Mother. No."
Arianna Ki Kalendeen opened her mouth to speak, but produced no sound. She raised a bloody hand to David's cheek and smiled weakly. Drawing her last breath, her eyes rolled back into her head and her hand dropped to the ground.
David felt as if everything he had ever eaten was about to spew forth from his stomach as he leaned over and began to retch. "Dear God, please don't let this be real. Please!" he pleaded. He felt his throat tighten and he began to cry uncontrollably. Images of his childhood raced through his mind, good times spent with his mother, and times he wished he had been a better son. Every disobedient word he ever said to her flooded through him, adding to the sick feeling growing in his stomach. “Mother, please don’t die…” he said between painful sobs, gently shaking her still form.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned around, vision blurred by tears and swollen eyes caused by both smoke and grief. "David, I'm sorry, she’s gone," the Bishop said sympathetically, trying to talk over a crying baby in his other arm. "But there will be plenty of time to mourn once we are safe. Come, we must leave now."
Beside the bishop were eighteen children, ranging in age from three to about twelve. They were all huddled together, frightened beyond reason.
David’s began to see red as his grief suddenly gave way to rage. “I’ll kill them all.” He stood up and unsheathed his father’s dagger and held it in his shaking hand. “I’LL KILL THEM ALL!!!” He let out a primal, anguished yell and started walking through the smoke towards the large main doors.
The Bishop handed the baby to one of the more calm children and quickly moved towards David. He caught him and pulled him back, just barely yanking him out of the way of a fiery support beam falling from the burning ceiling. He spun him around and a loud slap rang across David’s face. “David! Get a hold of yourself! I need your help. We have to get the children out of here. Where is Liam?”
He received no reply as David stared at his mother's still body. "Where is Liam?"
David's eyes snapped to the Bishop. "He passed out. He's in the side vestibule. They were undead. Father said they were undead. I have to tell Lord Branvold!"
"He already knows. Come with me, boy." Bishop Malachi grabbed David by the collar of his tunic and pulled him towards the front of the chapel. David wrenched free and darted towards his mother. His eyes were stinging from the smoke that continued to fill the room. Several of the pews were starting to catch fire as red, smoldering embers fell from the burning ceiling. The Bishop reached out towards David, but had to step back as another flaming beam fell from above, landing between them.
"David! I can't get to you. Run to the back of the church and follow Lord Branvold." the Bishop yelled between ragged coughs.
David knelt down next to his mother and pulled his facecloth back over his mouth and nose. He closed her still open eyes and prayed again for everything to be a dream. Tears continued to flow from him as he wept, holding his mother's hand. He glanced around. The bodies of the dead lay strewn about the church. The arrows had stopped as the battle had been resumed outside. Flaming timbers spotted the smoky scene, as his lungs began to feel like they were on fire. A creaking sound started to grow louder. He looked up and saw the ceiling starting to give way. Quickly, he dove under the front pew. The air was a bit clearer this low to the ground. Suddenly, there was a loud snapping noise and the entire burning roof collapsed on the chapel. David covered his head and prayed for either safety or a quick death. The pew cracked, but held, keeping the timbers away from David's prone body as they rained down upon the floor.
Slowly, he took his hands off of his head. There was only darkness and the strong scent of smoke. He could also feel heat to his left. Smoke started to fill the small space. Looking down towards his feet, the only light David could see was the red glow of some smoldering embers. He reached over and pushed on the wall of debris next to him, but it didn't budge. He could feel the gritty feeling of the soot on his hands as he tried in vain to escape. Quickly, the heat upon his hands rose to an intolerable level and he jerked back. While his hands were not blistered, he could still feel the heat upon them.
"Help!" he yelled. The sounds of fighting he had heard earlier were no longer audible, muffled by the layers of fallen timbers. The pew gave a small creak and David feared it would collapse. The space seemed to close in on him and the air became almost too thin to breathe.
He could feel panic begin to take hold of him. The only thing that mattered was getting free, undead or no undead. He rolled over onto his back and tried pushing the pew up with his knees. The wood didn't budge. He began to punch and claw at the pew above him as his breath became shorter and more shallow. Tears streamed down his face as he frantically tried to escape what he was afraid would become his grave. He punched at a bad angle and pain began to throb in his knuckle. He put it to his mouth and tasted the warm, salty mixture of blood, so
ot, and tears. He braced himself and took a deep breath. With all of his strength and determination he had left, he gave one more push with all his might and felt the pew budge slightly.
Everything started to fade away from him. His thoughts became more distant and alien to him. Breaths became shallow, and harder to take in as smoke filled the small space. The walls felt like they were starting to close in and David lost control of his thoughts and emotions. Screams of terror and rage erupted from him between coughs. He started to kick and punch frantically at the bottom of the pew just a hand above his head. Blackness overtook him and he faded in and out of consciousness.
David was brought back to his senses by a blow from outside striking above the pew. Sounds of wood scraping against charred wood echoed through the small space. He could feel his throat tighten as he froze in terror. Thoughts raced through his mind. He could picture several of the skeletal abominations above him trying to hack through the pew to get to him. They wouldn't stop until they had him. Who knows what would happen then?
Another solid blow struck the pew, then another. Light flooded into the small space as the wood splintered above his chest.
"David! Where are you? David!!!"
A flood of relief washed over David at the sound of his eldest brother's voice. "I'm here! Help me!"
"Keep still, Pudd. I'll get you out."
The section of the pew that was above his head was pushed over. David was blinded by the sudden amount of sunlight that struck his smoke-stung eyes. He felt Alexander grab his tunic and pull him into the fresh outside air. He took a deep breath of the cool, clean air and erupted in ragged coughs. Slowly, his eyes came back into focus as he adjusted to the full daylight. The entire ceiling of the church had collapsed, along with one of the walls. The sounds of fighting could be heard in the distance.
"What's …." David again started coughing.
"The bloody hellspawns hold the main gate. Most of the survivors have run into the castle. The Bishop told me you were to leave the chapel with Lord Branvold, and he said he hadn't seen you. When I got back here, I saw the rubble budge and I prayed it was you. Praise be to God that it was." Alexander grabbed his younger brother in an embrace. He then gave him room as David started coughing again.
Alexander took David's hand and led him carefully over the debris that used to be the chapel. They reached the rear of the fallen building and moved outside. Bodies of wedding guests were everywhere, as were several guards in livery. The four honor guards were lying on the ground, still in their armor.
"They must have attacked them when everyone was cheering. That is probably why we didn't hear it," said Alexander. His face tightened and his knuckles turned white as he gripped his bloodied sword. "Those bastards will pay for this."
David turned to his brother. "Mother's dead, Alexander. She's dead!" He started sobbing softly.
Alexander grabbed and shook him. "Damn it, David. Don't cry. We don't have time for sorrows now."
David looked at him with disbelief. He swung wildly at his older brother and the blow struck harmlessly against Alexander's metal breast plate. "How can you say that? Mother is dead! Don't you feel any pain, or don't you care?"
Alexander closed his eyes for a few seconds. A lone tear rolled down his cheek as he bit down on his feelings. "She was my mother too, David. Mareth is gone also, as is most of her family. Lord Branvold and Liam are the only two that still live. David, the time to mourn will come, but I for one prefer to mourn in victory. Do you still have the dagger Father gave you?"
David nodded, wiping the tears from his sooty face, trying to cover his anguish.
"Good. Let's go. We'll finish this one way or another in the castle."
The two brothers ran through the courtyard. The bodies were distinctly fewer here than in front of the remains of the chapel, but by quick count, it appeared the undead were winning. The green grass of early spring had a dark red tinge to it as the blood and entrails of the former wedding guests spilled freely from their wounds. Faces twisted in horror and agony stared back at David, with their still open eyes sending a chill down his spine. He forced himself to keep running in spite of the light-headedness that started to overtake him. After what seemed like forever, they reached one of the doors to the castle. The top hinge was broken and the bloodstained door hung loosely, half collapsed.
Once inside the castle, the sounds of battle could be heard again. Screams and the clang of metal striking metal echoed through the dark, empty corridors. David’s eyes took a few moments to adjust to the lack of light. Alexander walked off in the direction of the south stairwell.
“Where are we going?” asked David.
“I need to get something from my room, then we'll try to find the others.”
David hurried up the stairs after his brother. Although it normally wouldn’t have winded him, the smoke that stained his lungs made his breath heavy. He was coughing by the time they reached the third story of the castle.
Alexander stepped into the hallway and stopped. Two servants with vacant expressions, one with his throat slit holding a sword, the other with intestines hanging from an open abdominal wound, stood in front of them.
David froze. He was barely aware of Alexander swinging his sword while charging. There was a clang of metal hitting stone and he realized he had dropped his dagger. The sight of one of the abominations moving towards him brought him out of his temporary catatonia. He bent down and fumbled for his knife. The servant hit him and sent him sprawling down the stairs to the middle landing. The breath left him as a crushing weight landed on top of him and a pair of hands wrapped around his throat. His mind raced for what to do as he tried to pull the bloody hands from his neck. The grip tightened like a vise and David stopped trying to force breaths, instead reaching towards his belt. A burning sensation of revulsion erupted from the core of his being as his hands encountered the soft, warm, squishy feeling of entrails slithering between his fingers. He tried to push past them, but his hand became entangled. The flask of holy water was beyond his reach. David looked into the soulless eyes of his attacker. Upon the face, there was no look of determination, hatred, or any other emotion. Just cold, detached emptiness. He continued to try to break the grip, fighting against the unearthly strength of the undead servant. With all his might, he tried to pull one of the hands away, but as he strained, red and black specks started to dot his fading vision.
On the edge of his consciousness, David heard a loud crack. The grip around his throat went limp and the head of his attacker bounced off his face and rolled onto the ground. Alexander pulled the beheaded corpse off of his brother and brought him to his feet with his free hand, clenching his bloody sword in the other.
"Are you alright, Pudd?"
David dropped to his knees and emptied his stomach on the floor. Alexander stood silently and waited until he finished. After several minutes, his vomiting subsided into dry heaves. He stood up and wiped the visceral fluids from his hand.
He could feel tears welling up inside him again as he searched for the words to say. Alexander quickly put his arm around David.
"Don't worry, Pudd. He got in a lucky hit, that's all. If it hadn't been for you, both of them would have taken me down in a matter of seconds."
David buried his face in Alexander's cloak and wept. He was shorter than his older brother, coming up to his shoulders. Alexander let him cry this time. He was barely fourteen years old and he had minimal training in weapons, academics only. After a few minutes, David pulled back from his brother. "I'm okay. Thank you," he said in a hoarse voice. Between the smoke and vomiting, his throat was burning badly. The sour taste of bile sat heavily upon his tongue.
Alexander slowly helped David up the steps. David retrieved and sheathed his dagger, placing it in the side of his boot. The other servant was lying dead almost where it had stood before, its head split down the middle. Alexander picked
up his fallen adversary's sword and handed it to David. The sword was not overly heavy, and was well balanced and finely crafted, as were all weapons of the Ki Kalendeen house.
The two brothers crept down the empty hallway, wary of every shadow they crossed or corner they had to turn. A distant scream pierced the silence as another wedding guest met his fate. David offered up a silent prayer, both for the victim and for himself. He gripped the hilt of the sword tightly as his hands started to shake. The stress was becoming too much for him. At any second, a former friend animated by the powers of Hell could step out and kill him, or worse yet, kill Alexander and leave him alone to fend for himself.
The sounds of fighting throughout the castle had stopped. Terrible thoughts ran through his mind. Perhaps they were the only ones left alive and an entire army of the dead was scouring the castle grounds for them. The urge to run took hold of him, but he forced himself to continue following his brother. Finally, the brothers stopped as they reached Alexander’s bedroom.
“What are we doing here?” asked David.
“I know what you’ve been thinking, and the thought has crossed my mind too. I think we’re alone. The fighting has stopped and everyone else is either dead or hiding. Neither of those is an option for us. We’re getting out of here. We’ll head up to Avonshire. I have friends there, and Gabriel and El are there, too. We’ll exit the west end of the castle and cross the river. The water is only one leg deep at its worst.”
Alexander opened the door and they stepped inside. David followed and shut the door behind him. The fragrant smell of flowers permeated through the ever present stench of smoke that clung to his entire body. He was grateful and inhaled deeply, only to be once again set upon by a coughing fit. He spat a glob of smoke-saturated phlegm onto the stone floor and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
Alexander reached under his bed and produced the large, bulging pack he had prepared the day before. He thrust it into David’s free hand. The coins in the bag jingled as he swung it over his shoulder.
“It feels like it weighs fifty stones. What did you put in here?”
Blood Of The Righteous Page 9