Dark Crusade

by Vaughn Heppner

  Hugo pondered that, muttering, and from then on kept a closer watch on Josserand.

  ***

  Gavin grew uneasy as they approached Wyvis Keep. He recognized the fortress, the strangest he had seen in Anor. It had been built with mountain and masonry married together with uncanny skill. Turrets topped rocky ridges. In places, sheer drops were better protection than any wall. Beyond the keep, a brick road ran to a toll bridge in the distance and then to a forest beyond that that would merge later into Forador Swamp. Gavin hoped the forester he had once robbed was away on other business. And he brooded on the fact that if he had slain the man—if he hadn’t been merciful—that none of this could pose a problem.

  With Sir Ullrick holding his writ, the troop clattered up the mountain path to the main portcullis. A short, hard debate took place between the Wyvis seneschal behind a parapet and Sir Ullrick in his saddle, angrily shaking the parchment with the King’s seal. Reluctantly, they lifted the iron grate with a rattle of chains.

  As the trail-weary crusaders entered the main cobbled courtyard, Gavin understood why. A small army bivouacked here, one obviously formed against the rules of the Anno Charta.

  Tents rose everywhere in the huge courtyard. The ring of blacksmith’s hammers told of repaired mail-links, new shields and re-forged swords. To the sides, men-at-arms practiced their swordsmanship and others their archery. Puffing pages carted sloshing buckets to new-built troughs so the many horses could drink. An angry knight marched up to them, shouting at someone else about where to put all these extra men and mounts. The castle was too crowded as it was!

  “A hosting,” muttered Hugo.

  “One many times larger than what Ullrick has brought with us,” Gavin said.

  Squires and pages ran to help them with their horses, taking the mounts around a huge hay pile that must have been recently dumped into the courtyard.

  Once it was learned that Sir Ullrick the Bear from Banfrey had come, a herald ran out to beg them to join Baron Wyvis for supper.

  They washed away the trail-dirt in a cubicle to the side of the feasting hall, rinsing their hands in washbasins and combing dust out of their hair. Chainmail harnesses and swords were divested in a side room. Gavin, however, had taken to wearing the silver sword wherever he went and thus kept it with him.

  At the head table of a feast hall much larger than Forador Castle’s, sat a bent and trembling ancient with withered hands. He bid them welcome, old Baron Wyvis. He told them that strange trouble brewed in Forador Swamp, the reason for this feudal call-up. He had of course sent word to King Egbert. After sipping wine, Wyvis begged Ullrick, when he went back to Banfrey, to reassure his Majesty that they were loyal to the King. This host was simply to garrison the keep and protect the surrounding fiefs from increasingly strange depredations.

  Ullrick rose from his table and ran thick fingers through his beard. “Let us eat before we speak of this further, milord.” The Bear was known for his prodigious appetite, and the boar roasting in the fireplace on a spit smelled delicious.

  Gavin piled up on potatoes and peas and slapped on thick slabs of pork. He quaffed ale and felt his warmed stomach stretch comfortably. A knight was judged by the extent of his hearty appetite. Here, however, unlike the jousting field, Ullrick proved the victor.

  By the time Gavin slipped scraps to the hounds milling about the tables, an intense whispering campaign finally came to a head.

  The feasting hall was packed shoulder to shoulder with men and women. Not as many torches blazed upon the walls as had in Forador on that awful night. Instead, flickering light came from a roaring fireplace and from several cunningly placed mirrors.

  “Sir Wyvis,” said Ullrick, belching into his hand, “I thank you for that excellent meal.”

  The old baron struggled to rise before sinking back with a wheeze. His younger and amply endowed wife rose in his stead. She had gray hair, wide hips and brawny arms. An axe in her capable hands could surely have dashed many a smaller knight to the ground. Her fine linen dress and broad golden jewelry did nothing to soften her features, although it showed that she loved the riches her old baron had bestowed upon her. Over dinner, Gavin had heard that a costly clothing allowance had been part of the marital agreement, which had only been signed last winter.

  “We thank you for your kind words, Sir Ullrick,” Lady Pavia said in a loud voice. She paused as a priest beside her tugged on her vast, linen sleeve. Behind a cupped hand, the priest whispered into her ear. She nodded, then said to Ullrick, “I notice one in your train who bears a strange sword.”

  “Ah,” said Ullrick. “You must mean Sir Gavin.”

  “I do not know him by name,” said Lady Pavia.

  “Then let me present to you, Sir Gavin the Knight-errant, from Wolfsburg of Vacha, one wise in the ways of chivalry.”

  Gavin stood, bowed and made ready to say something witty.

  “That’s him!” shouted a green-cloaked man, leaping up from a table lower down the board. “It was a silver sword! I’ll never forget it!”

  To Gavin’s dismay, the forester he had once robbed pointed a shaking finger at him. Confusion abounded in the hall, until Lady Pavia’s shouts brought everyone back under control.

  “Pray tell us your tale, Welf,” she said.

  “I cannot, milady,” said Welf, “for he is a knight-errant.”

  “‘Tis no matter. This is my hall…” Lady Pavia coughed into a ham-like fist. “This is my husband’s hall, I mean. You may speak freely, Welf.”

  The old baron nodded in agreement.

  “I object!” said Sir Hunneric, rising to his feet. “Yonder man is no noble, but a mere forester. Who is he to speak ill of Sir Gavin?”

  “Listen to his tale, good knight,” said Lady Pavia. “Then dare to speak well of your chivalrous knight, if you still can.”

  “Gavin,” hissed Hugo, “what are we going to do?”

  Gavin fingered his sword’s hilt, wondering upon the ways of mercy.

  The forester told his tale to the shocked crowd. Many threw murderous glances at Gavin, while Ullrick grinned and whispered to Josserand. That one’s blank face never changed.

  “And after I freed myself,” Welf said in conclusion, “I wondered upon the knight’s strange advice. Thus, I gathered three stout lads and we dared the swamp. Nowhere did we find sign of swamp dwellers, although we found signs of struggles. Soon, we fled the swamp, for it no longer felt…well, it no longer felt natural. If you know what I mean?”

  Welf bowed and sat down.

  Ullrick rose slowly. He plucked at his massive beard, his face unreadable. “You speak harshly, fellow. How do we know if it’s the truth or not?”

  “Ask your knight-errant,” suggested Lady Pavia.

  Ullrick thundered his bushy eyebrows. To ask a knight if a baseborn fellow’s words were true concerning your un-knightly actions…it simply wasn’t done. He glanced at Gavin.

  Gavin rose, his hand on his hilt. “The forester speaks the truth.”

  Angry murmurs arose. Ullrick sat down, grinning at Josserand, whispering into his ear.

  “Wait!” shouted Swan, standing. “Lady Pavia, do you recognize me?”

  “Of course I do, child. You’re Sir Bremen’s only daughter, may his soul rest forever. Let us first settle this matter, however, and then—”

  “Milady!” said Swan. “I speak exactly to this matter.”

  “I see,” said Lady Pavia. “Baron Barthek is your liege.” She fingered her necklace, make of square cuts of gold that clattered whenever she moved.

  “Baron Barthek is no more,” said Swan. “He, like the swamp dwellers, has been captured by the creatures of Darkness, captured by Old Father Night.”

  The devotee of Hosar cried out at that evil name.

  Swan, with her bearing intent, began to tell them about her visions, about Leng and Zon Mezzamalech and what had occurred in Baron Barthek’s Great Hall. Then she told them about their escape through the swamp and how she had gained many te
rrible visions.

  “O my lords and ladies,” said Swan, “this vicious evil is what we must destroy. We are here as crusaders to root out this ancient and wicked malice. The darkspawn have cleared the swamp of its men and women. That is what Sir Gavin wages war against. Now it is true that Sir Gavin of Wolfsburg ignobly stole Welf’s horse and sword. Nor do I say that it was right to commit wrong for a just cause. But I do ask that you forgive Sir Gavin his crimes so he may yet use his silver sword against the enemy. I tell you, we must drop our old grudges to unite against this horrible enemy. Otherwise, we are doomed. Otherwise, we will all march in the Horde of the Damned. Otherwise, Anor will sink into depravity and degradation as one fortress after another is stormed and its inhabitants turned into darkspawn.”

  Swan then collapsed onto her bench, sipping at a goblet of wine poured her by Hugo.

  “You speak well,” Lady Pavia said into the silence.

  Swan rose again. “Not well, milady. I speak the truth!”

  “Truth?” asked Lady Pavia.

  “As you know in your heart that I speak,” said Swan.

  “Those are bold words. Wait! Hear me out,” said Lady Pavia. “I, after all, listened to you.”

  Swan nodded, sitting back down.

  “I know you, Swan,” said Lady Pavia. “You grew up in your father’s tower, which is less than five leagues from here. I must admit, I never heard of your speaking abilities then. Tell me, child, when did you start to see visions? Was it after your father’s death perhaps? I heard he died under a Cragsman’s spear, and that he died in front of you. That is a terrible thing for a child to see. Tell me, did you begin having your visions then?”

  “Not then, milady,” said Swan.

  “No?”

  “No, milady. The first vision came the night Leng led Baron Barthek into the dungeon and lifted a long hidden grate.”

  “A hidden grate, you say?”

  “That led into a deeper dungeon, milady. There, hidden under rubble, from underground vaults that had long ago collapsed—it took many nights for my baron to find the unholy amulet.”

  “Come now, child. Be truthful with us.”

  “They stirred an ancient evil, milady. I remember it well. I knelt in the castle’s chapel, praying that Hosar bring me deliverance.”

  “Deliverance from what?” asked Lady Pavia.

  “First, that he deliver me out of Baron Barthek’s hands, milady,” said Swan.

  “He was your liege, child.”

  “‘Tis true, but he was an evil man, nevertheless.”

  “Child, it is not right to speak ill of your sworn liege.”

  “My father swore to him, milady. But I never did.”

  “Then you were doubly wrong.”

  “Wrong, milady?” asked Swan. “Wrong when Baron Barthek sent me to the dungeons for naming Leng a sorcerer? Wrong when it was he, in his lust for power, who dug up the amulet of Zon Mezzamalech and began this whole horrible tragedy? No, milady, I was not wrong. While I do not claim to be without flaw, I can recognize evil when I see it. Baron Barthek was an evil man, vile. You know it, milady, as anyone here does who knew him.”

  Brawny Lady Pavia appeared thoughtful. The priest tried once more to whisper into her ear. She pushed him away, causing her golden necklace to clank and clatter. “What you say is most incredible, child… No, you are a child no longer. You are Swan. You have the makings of a Wisdom, I think.”

  “No!” shouted Hugo, as he leapt to his feet.

  The old, one-eyed squire didn’t stand tall the way Ullrick or Gavin did. He was simply a gnarled old soldier with a seamed face and a black eye-patch. His fingers were crooked, and his right leg was no longer able to straighten all the way. Everyone recognized him for what he was, and thus he astounded the assembled with his words.

  “I’m no speech-maker,” Hugo said. “But I’ll tell you this. This lady is a seer. She is one who sees with Hosar’s light, who hunts for facts no matter where they lead. Sir Gavin and I found her in the dungeons, singing. Aye. Her sweet voice guided us to her, and since then she’s guided us to safety. No Wisdom. The lady is a seer! She’s our only chance for defeating the darkspawn.”

  With that, Hugo abruptly sat down.

  Gavin put a hand on Hugo’s trembling arm. His squire gave him a nervous grin.

  “What do you suggest we do?” Lady Pavia asked Swan.

  “Have the King’s scouts returned from the swamp?” asked Swan.

  “No. No word since they crossed the toll bridge.”

  Swan nodded. “I think we must march on Castle Forador, but only with horsemen who can ride fast in and fast out. Bold warriors will be needed, milady, well armored and ready to deal death.”

  “What will you find?” asked Lady Pavia.

  “I do not know, milady, although I think that Zon Mezzamalech and Leng are no longer at Castle Forador. They have left a sentry, that I know, but it is a strange sort of…” Swan shook her head. “Whatever we do, we must do quickly.”

  Lady Pavia nodded before eyeing Gavin. “Would you pay restitution, sir?”

  “I would,” Gavin said.

  “And take me with you?” asked Welf.

  “Why, man?” asked Gavin.

  Welf looked abashed. “No one fights like you, milord. I would have you teach me better swordsmanship.”

  “Done!” Gavin said.

  Lady Pavia slapped the table, her necklace clattering. “Then let us plan.”

  ***

  Swan wanted volunteers. She wanted no cowards. Thus, only fifty-three warriors knelt in the chapel the next morning, taking oath to Swan as Seer. They swore to obey her and help obliterate the darkspawn.

  Soon thereafter, fifty-three horsemen clopped over the drawbridge. Gear rattled as the men spoke in hushed whispers. Thunder rumbled in the cloud-heavy sky and a chill wind bade the horsemen to keep a tight hold of their cloaks. Somberly, they rode over the toll bridge and into the forest. With bowed heads, they endured a downpour. Soggy clothing did nothing to cheer a cheerless enterprise. When the sun finally shone before dusk, Swan called a halt and ordered fires made. There, the warriors hung their garments on long sticks to dry. Early next morning, they edged to the swamp, a vast sea of grasses and muddy slime and sometimes knotted cypress trees with eerily hanging mosses. The trail was a dirt causeway, a snaking path several horsemen wide and three or four feet higher than the surrounding terrain.

  “Ride fast,” said Swan.

  In a long file, eyes peeled and nerves taunt, the horsemen rode. They heard splashing at times, but couldn’t see what caused it. Then strange barks and growls made heads whip about. Hisses made their skin crawl while clouds grew darker the deeper they plunged into the swamp. Bit by bit, the grasses grew less, the slime more and then more cypress trees pressed together.

  “By Hosar’s Beard!” roared Ullrick, pulling up.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Gavin.

  The Banfrey champion had gone pale. “Those trees yonder, did you see?”

  Gavin eyed them. They were bent old things. Their branches were more crooked than usual and the leaves much too dark. A sinister aura hung about them, as if spilled blood lay nearby.

  Ullrick shook his head. “This place gets to you.”

  Swan bid them move. To the castle and back before dark, that was the plan.

  They rode warily and the trees seemed to grow worse. After another mile, it was obvious. The trees had become twisted things with black leaves, while the grasses were rusty and vile-seeming, although still resilient.

  “This is an accursed place,” muttered Welf.

  Later, when the trees seemed to sway when there was no wind, and as dark clouds turned the day into seeming evening, men balked. Before it could turn into outright rebellion, Gavin called a halt. Men dismounted, and some kicked together stray wood and crouched around a fire. Others ate cold meats and cheese. There was mumbling and hard looks at the black sky.

  “What was that?” shouted Osric, a muscle
-bound man, one who had been acting as scout.

  “What?”

  “Over there! I saw movement.” Osric, a Wyvis thegn, pointed his spear Never Miss at some trees. “Come on, lads.” He jumped down the causeway and splashed through the slime, others reluctant to follow him. He must have felt it, for the thegn looked back and found that none had joined him.

  “Osric! In front of you!”

  The thegn whirled around, and those on the causeway shouted oaths and curses. For shambling out of a stand of trees and at the thegn was a tall, long-limbed creature wearing rags. Its arms and legs seemed rubbery, and even in the gloom its skin was clearly mottled, diseased seeming. It had no hair and where the nose should have been were twin slits in its skull-like head.

  The thegn stared at the thing in shock.

  “Kill it, Osric!”

  Osric moved at the last moment. He tried to bring up his spear Never Miss. The creature, a gaunt, knocked it away with a swipe of its long arm. Then it lurched at the thegn and picked him up, squeezing.

  Osric screamed.

  As Gavin and Josserand jumped off the causeway, swords drawn and running to the man, the gaunt bit the thegn’s face. The thegn thrashed and squirmed, but the creature proved stronger. Then the gaunt bit again and gnawed on Osric’s face as his thrashing grew less.

  “Beast!” roared Gavin. Josserand’s dark eyes gleamed.

  The screaming quit, and the creature dropped the dead thegn with a splash. It turned to face them.

  On the causeway, a bow twanged and an arrow sprouted from the gaunt’s shoulder. The creature, as if picking lice, plucked the arrow from it, looking at it and then pitching away the arrow. Two more arrows hissed, one hitting the creature’s chest—to no effect.

  “Weapons can’t harm it!” wailed a man.

  Gavin and Josserand slowed, glancing at one another.

  Hugo, who splashed through the slime after Gavin, slid to a halt, bent to one knee and aimed his heavy crossbow. The bolt smashed into the gaunt’s forehead, knocking it down as it squealed.

  Everyone one the causeway expected it to rise and shamble away. It didn’t. The creature lay there, unmoving.