The other two rushed Thaddeus, and as they did, illuminated by the Lord’s pillars of fire, he could hear the soldiers atop the walls—at least, the ones who didn’t run in fear—continue to curse and pray at the sight of the Devil’s soldiers. The sudden onslaught of two rushing goat-men pushed Thaddeus back, but Gunnar moved away and in behind one of them and cut its leg off at the hip. The creature didn’t seem to notice, hobbling on until the Norseman ran it through, turning it back to ash and leaving just one remaining demon spawn. Thaddeus made short work of it and, when he looked up at the walls, he saw the soldiers up there, no longer speaking, but simply looking on in awe and horror.
“May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you,” Thaddeus prayed, making the sign of the cross, “and may the Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give you peace, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”
As Thaddeus finished his benediction, the soldiers looking down on them lay down, and he knew they slept, and what they saw this night would simply be a vague dream, slowly forgotten over time. The hold of evil over them had been released, and Thaddeus was buoyed by it.
“To the keep, quickly,” he said, but as they made their way to the thick, oak door of the keep, Asaf stumbled and fell to his knees.
His face turned a pallid color, and blood trickled from one of his nostrils. He looked as if he struggled to keep his eyes open, and his breathing became labored and heavy. He slumped forward and rested on his knuckles.
“I’m worn thin, Thaddeus,” Asaf said, “like a morsel of butter spread over too many loaves of bread.”
“I know,” Thaddeus replied. “It is almost done my friend, and then we can rest for a while.”
“I’m not so sure the Lord will let us rest for that long,” Asaf said with as much of a smile as he could muster.
“Remember …” Thaddeus began, but Asaf cut him off, pushing off on a knee to stand up.
“Yoke and burdens and all that,” Asaf said with a wave of his hand. “I’ve been with you for too long, Thaddeus. I know what you are going to say, even if you don’t believe it. Let’s go and finish this thing.”
When Thaddeus opened the thick door, the columns of fire behind them cast long shadows into the otherwise dark first floor of the keep. Thaddeus entered first, followed by Asaf and then by Gunnar, leading a still blinded Alden. As soon as all four were in the room, the door behind them slammed shut, and the iron sconces lining the walls blazed even though they held no candles or torches. The stairway leading to the banquet hall and beyond sat on the far side of the room. Two ogres stood in front of the stairway, large brutes almost twice the height of a man and with grayish-green skin. Both of them had sloping brows and wild hair, beards, and eyebrows reddish in color, growing in all directions. They both had large bellies that hung sloppily over their belts and slouching shoulders. Large fangs, yellow and crooked rose from their bottom jaw, causing each one to have a severe under bite and curling their upper lips.
The first, carrying a large club studded with rusted, iron nails, leaned forward and roared, spittle flying from its mouth. The second, wielding a large, double-headed ax, laughed and said something to the other, which in turn caused it to laugh.
The ogre with the club rushed Thaddeus and, even though the man was ready, the speed of the ogre belied its size, and it backhanded the Greek, throwing him into the far wall. Thaddeus slammed against the stone with a thud and felt his consciousness wane. It then swung its club at Gunnar, the Norseman ducking and rolling out of the way. Alden, even though he couldn’t see, held his sword with both hands and stood in front of Asaf. This caused the ogres to laugh even more.
The axe-wielding ogre came at Gunnar and attacked wildly, the blade of its ax thunking into the stone floor, sending chunks into the air. Gunnar had no choice but to back up. He was as strong a man as Thaddeus had ever seen, standing a giant over most men and putting even the bravest of men to shame, but he looked like a little child next to this monster.
“Asaf!” Thaddeus yelled, standing up with the help of the wall.
“This will be the last of it,” Asaf said. “I’ll be useless for a while.”
“There may be nothing after this if you don’t act now,” Thaddeus said.
Asaf nodded, closed his eyes, and lifted his hands.
“Lord, as you helped the Nazarite Samson, despite his many sins against you, I pray that you help us.”
As soon as Asaf had finished his prayer, the room began to shake, and just as the club-wielding ogre was about to reach Alden and crush the blind man, the ceiling above it cracked and split open, spilling stone and timber down upon the monster, until the mound of rubble almost reached to where the ceiling once was.
The commotion caught the attention of the other ogre, and that was all the time Gunnar needed. The ogre had pressed him against the wall, and the Norseman reached up and gripped a tapestry hanging there, one depicting the noble symbol of the Tréguiers. Pulling it from its hooks, he threw it over the ogre’s head. The monster roared, and as it swung its ax wildly, Gunnar pulled one of the iron sconces from the wall. Ignoring the flame as it burned his hands and forearms, he threw the sconce at the tapestry-wrapped ogre, and the thread caught fire.
The monster’s roars turned to pain-filled screams as the burning tapestry consumed it. Even as the ogre was finally able to throw the last of the burning threads off of it, it had caught fire, its greenish skin turning black and cracking, its blood spilling through the wounds and boiling as it touched the fire. The ogre flailed about, an errant hand catching Gunnar in the chest and throwing him hard against the stone. The man’s body slumped to the ground, unmoving. The beast clutched at its face, trying to extinguish the flames, but rather clawed away flesh until it exposed his muscle and then bone, before finally falling face forward, dead.
Thaddeus ran to Gunnar, the Norseman’s breath slow, blood pouring from the side of his head. As he inspected his friend, the whole keep shook, and the sconces flared and then dimmed to little more than burning embers.
“Go!” Asaf yelled, kneeling and wrapping his arms around his body, shivering as if he were stuck in a blizzard. “I’ll stay with Gunnar.”
“I’ll go with you,” Alden said. “My eyesight is starting to return.”
“Very well,” Thaddeus said, standing and looking down at Gunnar, his stomach knotting with worry.
Thaddeus and Alden ran up the circular stairs, stopping when they heard the sound of someone—or something—clearing its throat.
“Imp,” Thaddeus said, and as soon as he spoke, fiery spittle flew against the wall from behind the curve in the staircase.
The little demon fluttered around the corner, struggling to stay afloat with its tiny wings. When it came into view, it had barely a moment to react. Thaddeus brought his blade down on the diminutive minion, and it collapsed onto the stairs, a flaming mass of skin and flesh.
The stairs opened into the banquet hall, where four Norman soldiers stood, an imp sitting on each of their shoulders.
“So many demons,” Thaddeus muttered, “something big is supposed to happen here.”
Alden groaned.
“Can you fight?” Thaddeus asked.
“I can try,” Alden confessed.
“Let me go first,” Thaddeus said, “but watch my back as best you can.”
The first soldier came at Thaddeus, jabbing a spear at him as his imp spat fire. Thaddeus side-stepped the attack, gripped his sword with both hands, and brought it up against the shaft of the spear. The weapon shot up and into the soldier’s face. He stumbled back a few steps, and Thaddeus brought the tip of his blade across the man’s belly. He collapsed to the ground, his imp caught underneath him. Thaddeus stomped down hard on the dead soldier’s chest, and a quick squeal, sizzle, and blood flowing from underneath the man said the demon was gone as well.
As the second soldier came at Thaddeus, he lifted his sword. The faint blueness of the
steel, present ever since Wufgar had blessed the weapon, flared to a blinding brightness. The imp squealed and burst into flames, catching the padded cloth shirt of the soldier afire. The other two Normans pushed the burning man aside and attacked, their imps fluttering above their heads and haphazardly spitting fire at Thaddeus.
The impish attacks would have been easy enough to avoid, but accompanied by the soldiers, they proved to be imposing foes, and Thaddeus felt the sting of fire several times on his skin. His steel to one of the men’s throat brought that soldier down, and when his imp got too close, Thaddeus swatted it to the ground with the broad side of his sword and then crushed it with his boot. The last soldier rushed him, but Thaddeus dodged the man’s spear attack, grabbed his shoulder, and pushed him towards Alden. He could tell the Saxon was still struggling to see as he stumbled to catch the Norman soldier, inadvertently tripping the man. The soldier fell awkwardly down the stairs, and as he tumbled, Thaddeus heard the sound of bone cracking and the Norman lay still, his neck at an odd angle to his spine. Thaddeus chased the pathetic creature about the room for a few moments before he easily dispatched it. Its wings could only carry it so high and far, and it eventually relented almost willingly to let the warrior cleave it in two.
“Let’s go,” Thaddeus said, grabbing Alden’s arm and leading him up the stairs.
The building shook again, and both Thaddeus and Alden had to brace themselves against the wall. Laughter echoed through the hallway as they climbed to the last floor of the keep, the Count’s quarters.
“You are a pathetic fool,” came the voice of the witch from above them.
They reached the door to the Count’s room, and Thaddeus kicked it open and rushed in. The Count lay on his bed, stripped naked, his arms and legs drawn taut by rope tied to the bedposts. A man and two women stood next to the bed—Renata and what Thaddeus assumed to be another witch, and a warlock.
“This is beyond you.” Renata laughed. “You are a tiny man and a pathetic fool.”
“The Lord is too strong for you,” Thaddeus said. “We’ve dispatched your demons and your minions.”
“Pittance,” Renata said, still laughing. “All in due time, we will prove how weak your Lord truly is.”
“And Brant, that poor excuse of a man,” Thaddeus said, “he is dead as well.”
“That’s too bad,” Renata said with a smile. “I liked him. He was fun. But I knew his time would be short. He was vain and stupid and too eager. You and your Lord are weak … and you’re growing weaker.”
“The one you serve is His footstool,” Thaddeus said.
“You will be our footstool,” the warlock hissed, a tall, thin man, black hair pulled back into a tail and his pale, hairless face handsome and smooth.
His robes, red and black and silver, spilled down from his shoulders, and as he pointed an accusatory finger at Thaddeus, it barely poked out from the sleeves.
“Love and compassion are a weakness,” Renata said, putting a gentle hand on the warlock’s and lowering his. “Soon, you will see the full might of the one I serve.”
“Why not now?” Thaddeus asked.
“Soon enough,” Renata replied.
“You think I am so pathetic,” Thaddeus goaded, “why not take me now?”
“Nothing would make me happier,” Renata replied and loosely waved a hand.
The sky outside the Count’s window, a wide arched opening in the wall, began to light up as the sun appeared to rise. Thaddeus saw a bright flash of red light and could see a black horse hovering in the air, just outside the window. The horse snorted, bellowing flames from its nostrils, and black wings sprouted from its shoulders, and red orbs sat where eyes should have been. As if Thaddeus needed any more proof, the ability to generate such a creature meant Renata was very powerful, and he wondered if she actually did hold a special place in the Devil’s court.
“Galen,” Renata said, patting the warlock’s shoulder, “take Vivian. Go tell the others to be ready. I will be coming soon.”
“Renata ...” Galen hesitated, worry evident in his expression.
“Do not worry,” Renata said, touching his face, “I will be fine. This man thinks he is strong ...” She gave Thaddeus a fleeting glance. “... but he is weak and pathetic.”
Galen and Vivian stepped out the window. The warlock took the reins of the black, flying horse, Vivian clinging to his waist, and turned the creature around. Its wings flapped, sending a hot wind into the room that swirled about the bed and knocking vases off their pedestals and tapestries off the wall.
Renata laughed.
“Today is the day your service to your Lord ends,” Renata said with a malicious smile, “and your service to my lord begins.”
Thaddeus cocked an eyebrow.
“I am not going to kill you, Thaddeus,” Renata said, “at least, not yet. No, you are too strong, and you look like so much fun. Subduing, you will be one of my greatest victories. I will be a champion—a general—in Lucifer’s armies for such a feat. And I will make you my slave. You will fight for me. You will kill for me. You will lie with me and please me.”
Renata bit her lower lip, excited about her promises.
“Have fun burning for all eternity,” Thaddeus said as he moved forward.
Renata threw her head back and laughed, but, as she dropped her head, she flicked her wrist, and three small darts shot through the air towards Thaddeus’ face. He dodged them only to find three more coming at him. He rolled backward.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” he said.
Renata laughed. She pulled at the collar of her dress, revealing more of her chest and cleavage. She revealed a pendant, sown into her skin and flesh. It was a snake made of black iron. It began to glow red. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, they were also red. She called out in the language of demons, her voice shaking the room, rubble spilling from the ceiling. Thaddeus attacked, swinging his blessed sword twice, but each time the sword should have struck Renata, the steel bounced away, striking some invisible force. She pushed one hand out and the air struck Thaddeus in the chest, and he reeled backward. He could hear Alden scuffling behind him. When he stood, Renata recited another incantation, and Thaddeus found himself unable to move. He couldn’t see Alden, but the scuffling of his feet stopped, and he presumed him to be frozen as well.
The witch laughed even harder.
“Before I enslave you and this Saxon scum,” she said, picking at one of her fingernails and walking towards Thaddeus, “you should know that the darkness already spreading over this land will only increase. The rivers will run red with blood, the skies will darken, and fire will rain down. The people of this land will be the first to bend the knee to my master, and your God can do nothing about it.”
The witch retrieved a flamberge knife from her belt. She inspected it for a moment and then she kissed the blade. It glowed a faint orange.
“Your friend won’t die just yet,” Renata said. “The poison in this blade will kill him slowly … painfully, and then it will reanimate him. He will be my puppet, doing my bidding. Maybe I will give him to Betrix. And you? When I enslave you, the first thing I think I will have you do is kill that prick Wulfstan and that pompous prince, Harold. Yes, that sounds good. And then I will send your Saxon puppet here to kill William Rufus. A Saxon killing the Norman king … that should cause the kind of rebellion we want. And then maybe I’ll have him kill Malcolm the Scot. Death. Blood. Despair.”
She lifted the knife, a look of ecstasy on her face. Thaddeus heard the shuffling of boots and the scraping of steel behind him.
“No,” the witch said, her eyes wide and her knife out in front of her, ready to fight, wavered momentarily. “How?”
Just then, Thaddeus’ blade, gleaming as bright a blue he had ever seen it glow, came down on the witch’s shoulder. Blood exploded from the wound as Renata fell to the ground. She tried casting a spell on Alden, who stood over her, but as she spoke, the blade glowed brighter and brighter,
and she screamed in pain. Alden hefted the blade down again, removing the witch’s head. As soon as life had left the body, it burst into flames that quickly melted the skin and bone into a thick, black mass like bubbling tar. The heat, at first, was intense, and the demon stink increased until the floor in the room began to tremble. Then, the black substance began to seep into the stone, and when it was gone, the room merely smelled of candles and wall sconces.
As feeling returned to Thaddeus’ limbs again, he collapsed to the floor, and Alden sat him up, holding him so he wouldn’t fall back again.
“How?” Thaddeus asked.
“My eyes,” Alden said. “I felt frozen, but only for a moment. I think because I could only see a silhouette of the witch, her spell didn’t really have an effect on me. When she started talking, I pretended to be frozen, and when she turned her attention fully on you, I grabbed your sword. I didn’t think it would work, but as soon as I touched your sword, my eyesight returned, and when she started casting a spell, I felt a tingling in my arms and knew her charms wouldn’t work against me. It was very odd.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Thaddeus said with a short laugh, and then he looked to the spot on the floor where the witch had disappeared. “So much for a weak Lord.”
They heard coughing, and Alden stood, Thaddeus’ sword gripped in his hand. But it was the Count. He shook his head and gently pulled at his restraints.
“What, by Christ and His angels, is going on here? And who are you?”
Chapter 28
THADDEUS DRAPED A ROBE around the Count’s shoulders, and while he was tending to Stephen, Alden descended to the first floor to retrieve Gunnar and Asaf. The Count looked bewildered most of the time, sweaty and pale, his skin cold to the touch one moment and then hot the next. He spit out the first couple of sips of water he took and, as the sun began to rise and dispel the night, he seemed wary of the light, almost shying away from it.
To Kill a Witch Page 24