A Kingdom Falls (The Mancer Trilogy Book 1)

by Alan Scott

  Using the dagger, Warsmith stabbed the floor of the trunk at one of the corners and dragged the blade down before stopping and breathing heavily. Guardian Ending tapped his teeth together thoughtfully before moving forward to remove the trunk and dagger from Warsmith. Placing the trunk on the floor, he used the dagger to finish cutting out the false bottom. He reached down and removed a medium-sized plain-looking book, then handed it over to Warsmith.

  Bruce Warsmith smiled his thanks and held the book to his chest. “This is my original Holy Book.” Holding it out to Brother Spear, he said, “Take it.”

  Spear reverently took the book and opened it at a random page. “Brother Warsmith!” he said in awe.

  “Yes, Guardian Spear. This is the book I found in that small village. This is the book that was written by him.”

  Guardian Spear closed the book slowly and held it protectively to his chest.

  “You must take it to the garden and find Rose,” commanded Warsmith.

  “I will,” stated Guardian Spear. Guardian Ending nodded.

  “Good.” Warsmith slid back down to a prone position in his bed. “Guardian Ending, please sort out the trunk so it looks as good as new.”

  Guardian Ending nodded.

  “I think I shall sleep now,” said Warsmith as he closed his eyes.

  “Sleep well, Brother,” whispered Guardian Spear.

  Guardian Ending sighed and turned his attention to the trunk. Quickly, he smoothed out the ragged edges with his dagger and placed the travel cloaks back inside He picked up the pieces of the false bottom, stood upright, and started to make his way out of the tent.

  Gripping the Holy Book firmly in his hand, Guardian Spear took one last look at Brother Warsmith. “I shall not fail you, Brother. I promise you by this book.” Slipping the book inside his jerkin, Spear followed his fellow Guardian out of the tent.

  ***

  Aaron Power strode through the camp back towards Brother Warsmith’s tent. His meeting with the senior Brothers had gone well. They had quickly and easily agreed to a full meeting of the most senior Craktoneon to discuss the failing health of Brother Warsmith. It would take a week for them to all gather, but a week was fine - a week gave him ample time.

  As he neared the tent, he saw Guardians Spear and Ending exit the tent and take their normal position nearby, which must mean they had finished clearing the shit and puke from the old man. Good, as he could not stand the smell.

  As he neared, Spear and Ending stood to attention. “Sergeant Guardian Power,” said Spear.

  “How is he?” asked Power.

  “He is comfortable,” answered Spear.

  Aaron nodded his head in reply as he passed them and entered Warsmith’s’ abode.

  ****

  Five days later

  “How long has he been in there?” asked Alex Weir of the innkeeper who was standing outside Reif Rothgal’s room.

  “Three days, sir. He won’t allow anyone in except serving maids, and only then if they have beer.”

  “Hmm, I see, and how much does he owe you?”

  “Let’s see - room rent, beer, and a small amount of food… about six silvers.”

  “Here,” said Alex as he reached into his pocket and took out a gold coin, “keep the change.”

  “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “Now, please go. I need to speak to my friend.”

  “At once.” With that, the innkeeper made his way down the small corridor towards the stairs.

  Alex looked at the door, took a deep breath, reached for the handle, and opened the door. Alex immediately noticed two things as he entered the room. The first was how dark it was, even though it was almost midday. This was due to the heavy-duty curtains being shut. The second was the stench of body odour, stale beer, smoke, and vomit. “For fuck sake, Reif!” coughed Alex as he moved towards the window.

  “Get the fuck out!” shouted Reif Rothgal.

  “Fuck off!” declared Alex as he drew the curtains and threw open the window.

  “I said get the fuck out!” screamed Reif as he raised an arm to protect his eyes from the bright light.

  Alex turned and looked at his dishevelled friend who was sitting at a table next to the unmade bed. “You look like shit.”

  Reif gave Alex the finger.

  “Reif, you need to get your shit together. There is an important meeting of the Craktoneons in two days’ time and you need to be there.”

  “Alex.”

  “What?”

  “Just fuck off!” sneered Reif.

  “Reif, I know you only buried...”

  “Buried. Buried! Is that what you called it, Alex?” Reif stood up, unsteadily. “Buried? My parents were mutilated!” Tears started to fall from Reif’s red raw eyes. “My mother had her face half ripped off and her eyes torn from their sockets. My father had his left arm and right leg missing. I tried to bury what was left of my parents in our family cemetery, but guess what, Alex? Eh?”

  Alex Weir looked down at the floor. “I know, Reif.”

  “Know what?”

  “That you were not allowed,” said Alex, sadly.

  Reif stuck his face in Alex’s. “I was not fucking allowed, was I?!”

  “No.”

  “No. No,” said Reif softly as he patted Alex’s shoulder, “because the fucking Red Bank now owns all my land and they did not allow me to bury my parents in the family cemetery. So what did I have to do... old friend?”

  “I offered you the money, Reif.”

  “What did I have to do?”

  “I offered you the money, Reif,” repeated Alex, getting angry.

  “I had to sell most of my belonging to have enough to bury them in a semi-decent cemetery, and guess who owns the fucking cemeteries now? Eh, Alex?”

  “The Red Bank,” stated Alex.

  “Yes, the fucking Red Bank. Not only have they stolen my inheritance - that I could almost live with - but they have stolen my family’s dignity in death.”

  “I am sorry, Reif...”

  “Sorry! Sorry?” Reif turned around with a sad little laugh. “Sorry. Oh well, that’s okay, then.” Reaching the table, he picked up the bottle of wine and took a deep drink, before spinning on his heel and flinging the bottle at his friend. “Sorry, you sanctimonious bastard!” he screamed. “Is that all you can say?”

  Alex dodged to one side and the bottle smashed on the wall behind him. “So what are you going to do, Reif? Drink yourself into oblivion every day? Stay in this foul room?” Alex moved towards Reif.

  “Just FUCK OFF!”

  “Reif,” said Alex, coldly.

  “What? You fuc...”

  Alex’s fist connected with Reif’s jaw, sending the man sprawling to the floor. “Your father would be ashamed of you, you pathetic idiot!” Alex kicked Reif in the ribs. “Do you think he would have self-destructed? Do you think he would have wallowed in self-pity? No, he would have done what needed to be done and then he would have sought revenge.”

  “My father was a good man,” whispered Reif.

  “And as for your mother...” began Alex.

  “You leave my mother out of this!” demanded Reif.

  “What do you think she would have said?”

  “She would have said...”

  Alex waited a few moments before breaking the silence by asking again, “What do you think she would have said?”

  “She would have said...” Reif grasped the edge of the table and painfully pulled himself up, “...be a man.”

  “Yes, she would,” Alex gently agreed.

  “There is nothing here for me now.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  Reif sniffed and looked around the room. “So, what were you saying about a meeting of the Craktoneons?”

  “There is an important meeting being held in two days’ time. If we hurry, we could make the tail end of the meeting.”

  Reif ran a hand through his dirty greasy hair. “Your timing is perfect, Alex. I was beginning to be b
ored of being a filthy drunken idiot.”

  “You can always go back to it, once you have talked to the Brothers and taken your revenge on those thrice-cursed werewolves.” Alex smiled to himself as he saw a spark of life in his friend’s eyes. That spark may be fuelled by anger and rage, but that was better than the self-pity and hatred that had been there before.

  “I need a bath,” stated Reif. “Have the innkeeper send up hot water and ....” Reif looked round the room, “...a bath.”

  “Will do,” replied Alex as he walked to the door. “Just be ready for tomorrow morning.”

  “I will be.” Reif ran his hand through his filthy hair. “I will be,” he declared with authority.

  ***

  Two days later

  Aaron Power stared into the deep early morning fog that had surrounded the Craktoneon’s camp. “The time is now. Are you ready?” the Midnight Man’s voice echoed strangely inside Aaron’s head.

  “Yes,” Aaron replied.

  “You must get the book and the secrets it holds.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. Today will mark the beginning of my return, and you and Joanna shall at last be together.”

  “My sweet angel of death,” whispered Aaron.

  “Yes, your sweet angel of death.”

  Aaron felt himself getting aroused at the thought of finally being able to lay his hands on the woman who had bewitched him with her love of death.

  “Do not fail me,” the Midnight Man’s voice was cold and clinical.

  “I won’t,” responded Aaron as he watched the vague human shapes appear and then disappear in the thick fog.

  Aaron Power turned and made his way through the fog-laden camp. He smiled to himself as he noticed that the mist had caused an otherworldly effect. People drifted in and out of view like ghosts. The cooking fires were strangely subdued as if the grey smog was sucking the very life and soul from them. “Death is beautiful,” he whispered to himself.

  ***

  “Something evil comes.” Guardian Spear shuddered as he pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders. Guardian Ending looked at his friend. “I know by the prickling of my thumbs. Trust me, my mute friend. I think today may be the day Brother Warsmith told us about.”

  Ending thought for a moment and then nodded.

  “We must be ready.” Another nod from Guardian Ending before he snapped smartly to attention. Guardian Spear quickly shrugged off the blanket and followed his friend’s example.

  “At ease, Guardians,” said Sergeant Guardian Power.

  “Yes, Sergeant Guardian Power,” responded Spear.

  “Are they all in there yet?”

  “No, Sergeant Guardian. Brothers Bowler and Widden are still to arrive.”

  “That is not good.” Aaron shook his head. “How about the Brothers from the other camps?”

  “They are all in the tent, and in prayer with and for Brother Warsmith.”

  “That is good that they are all together.”

  “I believe that some of the lesser...”

  “They do not matter,” cut in Aaron. He turned to look Spear in the eye. “All that matters are the senior ones.”

  “Yes, Sergeant Guardian Power,” replied Spear with a slight shudder.

  “Cold?”

  “It’s the fog, Sergeant Guardian,” responded Spear.

  “Is it?” With that, Aaron Power walked into the tent.

  Guardian Spear watched Sergeant Guardian Power walk into the tent, before turning his attention to Ending. “Did you see his eyes?”

  Ending nodded.

  “They were dead - no emotion at all, no feeling at all. And my thumbs are prickling like mad.”

  Guardian Ending bent down and picked up a bag. He grabbed his friend’s arm and tried to pull him along with him as he began to walk away from the tent.

  Spear knocked Ending’s hand away. “Really?”

  Ending nodded.

  Spear remained silent for a second before he made his way to the entrance of the tent. Looking inside, he saw the great and good of the Craktoneons praying in the early morning for the salvation of one of their founding Brothers.

  He saw Brother Warsmith sitting alongside them in the front row, looking lost and unsure, as if he did not know quite what to do. He saw Sergeant Guardian Aaron Power stare at the congregation with a hungry and predatory look. He saw Sergeant Guardian Dransfield and Sergeant Guardian Black standing on opposite sides of the great tent. The tension between the two men was palpable.

  As he observed the gathering, he felt a gaze upon him. Turning his head, he made eye contact with Brother Warsmith, and for a brief moment in time, the old strong and powerful Brother Warsmith returned to those eyes. Warsmith nodded once in reply to an unasked question. Guardian Spear solemnly nodded his respect and farewell before turning swiftly and walking to Guardian Ending. “Provisions?”

  Guardian Ending shrugged his shoulder upon which was the bag.

  “How many days?”

  Guardian Ending indicated five days’ worth.

  “That will be enough to start with.” Guardian Spear touched his jacket where the Sacred Book of the Craktoneons was safely nestled. “Let’s go, my friend.” Without a backward glance, the two men disappeared into the fog.

  ***

  Aaron watched as the fools knelt and demanded that their false god heal an old sick man.

  “Does the sight not sicken you, my darling?” Joanna Harris’ voice sounded in Aaron’s head.

  “It does, my dearest.”

  “Then worry not, for soon they shall all be dead and we shall be together.”

  “Together in glorious death.”

  “Yes, Aaron, my darling - together in glorious death.”

  “The attack?” queried Aaron Power.

  “Shall begin in moments, my darling,” purred Joanna. “Keep your eyes open as we have taught you and, through them, I shall open the shadow-doors that will bring my kin through.”

  ***

  Brothers Bowler and Widden, accompanied by four Guardians, entered the tent and made their way to the head of the praying Craktoneons. Brother Widden struck the ground five times with the end of his staff, signifying the end of the praying.

  “Brothers and Guardians, we are here...” began Brother Bowler when a solitary high-pitched scream sounded out from a nearby the tent. A low murmur ran through the congregation. Another death scream split the early morning.

  ***

  Aaron Power smiled and drew his sword as a shadow-door opened beside him.

  ***

  Joanna Harris charged through the shadow-door with manic eyes and a hunter’s laugh on her lips. “Fear Him, for He cometh!” she shrieked. She gripped the mace she was carrying tighter and swung it into the face of the man closest to her, shattering bones and cartilage, and spraying blood everywhere.

  Two further shadow-doors opened, and Gideon Sandhu and Miriam Gregorious entered the fight, their swords slashing through flesh and lopping off heads.

  ***

  Aaron quickly made his way to where Brother Warsmith was still kneeling. “Now you die, old man,” he whispered.

  Brother Warsmith looked up with a dazed and confused expression on his face. “Boy, what is happenin...”

  Warsmith never finished his sentence as Aaron’s sword drove through his chest and out his back.

  ***

  “Noooo!” screamed Sergeant Guardian Luke Black. As he surged toward Brother Warsmith, he saw Aaron Power place a foot on Warsmith’s chest and push him off the sword, before bending down to pick up the brother’s Holy Book.

  “Die!” cried Luke as he approached Aaron, who simply looked up and sneered, as men from the Brethren of the Night flooded into the tent and attacked the dazed Craktoneons. Luke’s sword swept down but was easily parried by the rising Aaron. “Betrayer!” accused Luke as he swung again.

  “Fool,” grinned Aaron as he repelled Luke’s attack and pressed home his own.

  “You wi
ll die, betra... Arghhh!” Luke called out as a dagger was plunged into his back.

  Aaron Power nodded to the Brethren standing behind Luke, who had sunk his dagger into the Guardian’s back. “You are not worth the effort,” scoffed Aaron as he turned and made his way towards the love of his life, who was currently ripping through the Craktoneon Guardians.

  ***

  The Brethren pulled out his dagger from Luke’s flesh and plunged it in again with a mad giggle. Luke dropped his sword and fell to his knees as once again the blade was removed from his flesh. Lifting his head, he witnessed the massacre of his comrades. How easy it had been, how so very easy it had been. Luke swayed a little as a heavy object crashed into him on the way down to the ground. Turning his head, he saw a man’s body lying next to him, blood pouring from a wound to his head.

  “Come on, Luke. Get up.” Hands grasped him under the armpits. “Get up, Luke. Now!”

  Luke pushed himself off his knees with the help of his rescuer and onto shaky feet.

  “Fuck!” Suddenly, his helper let go and Luke staggered to stay upright. Then he was grabbed hold of again and led forcibly out of the tent and into the deep thick fog. “Keep moving,” the voice urged him.

  Luke turned his head to view his rescuer and, as he did so, the gratitude vanished from his face and voice. “You!”

  “Yes, me,” replied Dennis Dransfield.

  “You are always late.” Luke’s voice was devoid of emotion.

  “And you are always charging into trouble.” Dennis’s voice was equally devoid of emotion.

  ***

  Joanna Harris ripped out the throat of the Guardian who had dared to confront her with her fangs. His rich crimson blood flowed down her throat like nectar.