Haggart's Dawn

by Martyn J. Pass

  “The blades will need a stone on them, I expect. I'm assuming, Talbert, that you can lay your hands on your crossbow?”

  “Of course. I had a new stirrup fitted to it the other month. It looks...”

  “It's a bow, not a woman,” said Haggart who looked towards Lorrie who was chatting with a farmer's wife. “Maybe some of Shank's equipment will fit Lorrie until we can find a Smithy.”

  “That's a good idea. Bring her with us to the crypt,” said the Captain.

  “You're joking? Why is that mad-woman coming with us?”

  “Because she's involved in all this. We don't know how or why, yet, but she is. Get used to it.”

  *

  It was early evening when they rode out to Rottersil, the largest town within ten miles. It was as old as the hills, originally the site of the first settlers who came as nomads from the south. Having wandered for centuries these tribes gathered together – or so the legend went – at the foot of the Copper Mountain and pitched their camp one final time. Now a thriving market town, Rottersil was also the home of the only crypt in the area.

  “Try not to talk to the Priest,” said Haggart as their horses crested the final hill before the long decent into the town. “I could do without the sermon.”

  “Hopefully he'll be sleeping off a belly full of beer. Todd should let us in without too much fuss,” replied the Captain.

  “I wouldn't count on it. That man may like his ale but it doesn't seem to affect his hearing. I’ve no doubt he's sensed heretics approaching and is already arming himself.”

  “Is he that bad?” asked Lorrie.

  “Yes,” said both the Captain and Haggart in unison.

  “Oh. What is he a Priest of?” she asked.

  “Lorse, the pagan deity, the only one the Council have yet to ban. Somehow they can't seem to stamp out his worship where ever they find it. It's like a weed that pops up if you don't get the root.”

  “Is he a kind god?” she asked, though Haggart could feel the Captain's reserves of patience running low.

  “Not really – unless child murder is still considered a kindness,” he spat.

  “Child murder?”

  “Yes, girl. Though I doubt you will find the Priest murdering babies, but he might take the hobby up again if the Council let him.”

  She went very quiet after that but it wasn't long before they were trotting along the road into town, passing the empty market stalls which stood like odd wooden skeletons without their produce on them. They saw no one along the way but heard a crowd in the local Inn, the Stanley, and passed it by.

  “Better to keep a low profile,” said the Captain. “News of Hector's mill will have reached here, I have little doubt”

  “We'll press on. The sooner we can load up, the better,” said Haggart.

  They came through the town on the north side, finding the tall, sinister looking building of chiselled stone staring down at them from a small hill. Only one of the dirt streaked windows showed any signs of life and it gave off a gloomy yellow glow like a single evil eye that looked down on them as if it were a disgruntled Cyclops.

  They followed the winding path upwards, it's details becoming less of a blur as they neared the hilltop and none of the party found it any less forboding up close.

  “What are the spikes for?” asked Lorrie, indicating the row of sharp but rusted iron points that bristled along the rooftop.

  “Don't ask,” replied the Captain. “But you can work it out if you try hard enough.”

  She stared up at them and suddenly gasped.

  “They haven't been used for quite some time, I assure you,” said Haggart and urged his horse forward as the doors began to open. A voice belonging to a hunched shadow in the doorway called out to them.

  “Who is it?” Haggart was thankful when he realised that it was Todd standing there and not the Priest.

  “Good evening, Todd,” called the Captain, climbing down from his mount. “We've come to see the crypt.”

  “You're lucky, Dern. The Priest has only just passed out and he was in a foul temper this aft',” replied Todd, hobbling forward and leaning heavily on a long gnarled staff of rowan wood. Together they trotted up the path and hitched their horses along a rail near the doorway. Todd waited for them to finish before leading them round the side of the building with a noticeable limp.

  “How's things, Todd?” asked Haggart.

  “Awful, thanks. The Council is still trying to shut us down. Only last week we had a couple of Hunters in our vestry trying to scare us out. The old man was having none of it though – he started hitting them with his staff. They soon made a run for it, not willing to anger him further.”

  “Hunters?” asked the Captain.

  “Aye, we thought it strange too,” said Todd, leading them amongst the tombstones which, in the twilight, began to look more like rows of blackened, broken teeth. “Why send them to clear out an old temple? Made no sense to either of us at the time. We both thought they might need to look west a little more.” Todd shot Haggart an angry look which Haggart deflected with a slow shake of his head.

  “Still bitter, Todd?” he said.

  “On the contrary. Unlike my master I'm open minded to your lot, but unfortunately you have managed to hold on to your... reputation for many years now and people fear you - with good reason. Not to mention you draw the rather unwanted attention of Hunters from the Council.”

  “We can't help what we are,” said Haggart.

  “Perhaps you can't. But you can be a little more discreet.”

  “Enough,” broke in the Captain. “We're here to see the crypt, not get bound up in endless rhetoric. Lead on, Todd.”

  “I can see why they made you Captain now. It must have been splendid being one of your soldiers,” mumbled Todd as he led them across a small stream on a plank bridge and headed off into a more secluded part of the graveyard. Looming up in front of them was a row of marble blocks all perfectly rectangular and seated on four-legged platforms, each identical to the other. Across their faces, carved in a beautiful script, were the family names – DERN, PASSE, LINGUT and ARAN.

  “Here we are then. I guess you'd prefer me to make myself scarce?” said Todd.

  “Of course,” replied Haggart sharply. Nodding, Todd hobbled back the way they'd come, stopping at the stream and leaning on his staff.

  “You were a bit hard on him,” said Lorrie. “He was only trying to help.”

  “Help? He probably sent those Hunters straight to the pub. He's hated me since the day we first met. He hates all those who have this... ability,”

  “He's been a friend to the Dern family for a long time, Haggart. Try to bear that in mind,” said the Captain, walking towards the block with his own name carved on its front. He passed by it on the left and Haggart followed, still wondering if Todd had indeed sent a Hunter in his direction. It seemed a little petty, he thought, even for Todd.

  There was a clearing on the far side which was a perfect semi-circle of well tended grass surrounded by tall rowan trees. In the centre there was a pale marble archway carved into the form of two intertwined oaks, their branches forming the apex of the structure.

  “Is this it?” asked Lorrie. “It's beautiful, Captain.” Haggart could have sworn he saw him blush, but he quickly shrugged it away, moving towards the entrance and found the key hole with his fingertips. Then, tugging at a piece of rope around his neck, he produced the key and inserted it into the hole. There was a loud grating sound of stone upon stone as the doors parted and once the opening was wide enough, the Captain entered.

  “We're going down?” asked Lorrie.

  “Aye. Better follow the Captain, he'll have the torch,” said Haggart and together they passed through the archway and onto a series of stone steps.

  “One moment,” said the Captain as he struck a match. There was a flicker of flame as he lit a torch from the wall sconce and it burst into light, illuminating the cold, damp passageway.

  “How far d
own does it go?” Lorrie asked, steadying herself on the Captain's arm.

  “Deep. It will take several minutes to reach the bottom. These catacombs were dug long ago and there are over fifteen generations of the Dern line down here.”

  The stone doors closed behind them and they went down further and further, feeling every inch of the cold and the gloom. Twice they nearly stumbled on a smooth step which felt like ice under their feet but eventually they reached the bottom and Lorrie gasped.

  The chamber itself was enormous and the torch could barely illuminate even a part of it. Lined along the walls were stone tombs, each one different, each one covered in runes and words from languages none of them would ever know. The Captain pressed onwards into the darkness and his footsteps echoed around the room, muffling even the loudest drops of water falling from the ceiling somewhere far above them.

  “This is amazing,” whispered Lorrie. Haggart had seen it before on many occasions yet it still took his breath away. As the Captain walked along he began lighting the other torches along the walls and soon the shadows were forced into retreat. The cold, bleak chamber was soon awash with warm reds and oranges and yellows, flickering and dancing along the outlines of the stone reliefs and marble sepulchres.

  “The air is fresh down here,” said Lorrie. “How?”

  “There's a shaft running through it, small enough to keep the air circulating so anyone who had to work down here wouldn't suffocate. The opening is too small for intruders, thankfully.”

  The Captain went to the far end of the chamber and slipped his torch into the wall mount before tackling the lid of one of the tombs.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, but Haggart just laughed. “Who's tomb is that?”

  “It's mine, don't panic,” replied the Captain and with his great strength he slid the solid granite top off and onto the floor. It's impact boomed around the chamber, echoing into the distance.

  “Yours? But you're not dead yet! That's a little grim don't you think?”

  “Maybe. It's a good place to keep stuff dry and secret, though. Come here and try this on.”

  Haggart looked across the rows of the Captain's ancestors, taking in the runes of old and wiping away patches of dust in various places. He stopped just short of the Captain's, spotting something familiar worked into the masonry of his great-great-grandfather. He approached the tomb and wiped away the years of dust from the carved form of Alfred Horatio Dern lying cold on top and that was when he saw it. Worked onto the back of the hand holding his sword was the rune that had been burned into Haggart's the day he saw the vision.

  “Captain, I think you should see this,” he said. He held his own hand next to that of Alfred Dern and there was no mistaking it – they were identical. The Captain stared at it for a few moments, his brow deeply furrowed.

  “What does it mean?” he asked. “Are we supposed to open it?”

  “I don't know,” said Haggart, though in all honesty that's exactly what he thought it meant. He didn't hold to revering the dead but he had respect for the Captain to let the decision rest with him.

  “I think it does,” he said and went to the far end of the tomb, finding the lip of the lid with his fingertips. Haggart went to the other end where the carved head of Alfred lay and did likewise. Then together they wrestled with it, eventually breaking the seal and, with a gust of old air that sighed from the tomb, they lifted it free and placed the lid on the floor, peering inside.

  “Well?” asked Lorrie who'd been watching whilst trying to get a leather vest over her head. Haggart looked at the fragile remains that had long ago collapsed in on themselves without the tendons and ligaments to hold them together. Even in death the skeletal form of Alfred Dern was an impressive size and if the armour he was wearing was anything to go by he would have been a fearsome sight on the battlefield. In one hand was his sword, immaculate and well made, with a polished hilt cast in the form of the same trees carved into the archway outside. The blade still shone and not a single notch could be seen along its keen edge. Laid across his chest was his shield – round and wide enough to cover most of his trunk with a polished steel boss in its centre and banding around the edges. Carved into the wood were various runes and strange markings that even Haggart didn't recognise.

  “He died well armed,” he said. The Captain stared at the remains for a moment.

  “Well?” he asked, looking at Haggart.

  “I hadn't thought this far...” He suddenly felt a shooting pain in his arm and its source seemed to be the scar. He gritted his teeth, clutching it with his other hand as if it wasn't his own.

  “What's happening?” asked the Captain.

  “I don't know but it's agony!” snapped Haggart. He felt a wave of nausea rising within him and he reached out to steady himself on the stone, drawn to the hilt of the sword. He found the handle of the weapon and the pain suddenly stopped. Sweating, he got back onto his feet and the two of them just stared at him, puzzled.

  “That wasn't even funny,” said Lorrie when she saw the mess he'd made of Alfred's remains. “Look at him, he's in a right state.”

  “You're concerned about a pile of bones? What about me?” said Haggart. “I thought I was dying, I was about to pass out when I reached for the tomb to hold onto.”

  “It's the sword. The vision was driving you to take the sword,” said the Captain. “Look closer at it.”

  Haggart stared at the two trees knotted together in beautiful silvery detail. Then he saw it, glowing from the centre of the hilt – the rune.

  “This makes no sense,” he said. “This was all to get us to this place, this sword?”

  “It certainly seems that way,” said Lorrie.

  “But why?” asked Haggart, sitting down on the edge of the next tomb. The Captain took the shield and passed it to him. Again, the same marking was on the inside of it, behind the leather straps.

  “We'll find out in good time, I expect.”

  They replaced the lid of the tomb and returned to the Captain's, eager to leave the place as quickly as possible. Lorrie found a well crafted robe of purple that had been overlaid with leather plates – a gift from a warlord that was far too small for Haggart but fit her almost perfectly. He found her a set of plain steel greaves and looped a sword belt around her waist, lending her his own short blade since acquiring the one from the tomb of Alfred Dern.

  “It won't stop hammers and axes but it is light enough not to be too much of a burden,” said the Captain who was dragging out his heavy plate and chain mail vest, custom made by a master blacksmith who he'd once saved the life of. It was a priceless piece of armour and he handled it with the same care he might treat a small child. Under it all he wore the mantle of the King's Personal Guard – his former command.

  “Are you sure?” asked Haggart, indicating the scarlet and black cloth.

  “I am still proud of being a man of the King, even if there is no King any more.” He put on his plate gloves and boots and his helmet that completely encased his head, leaving only a slit in the front to see out of. His height, coupled with the bulk of the armour, made him a fearsome figure to behold.

  “Still fits. All of it,” he said, laughing. The last thing he took was an enormous double-headed battle axe which had been tenderly wrapped in leather and bound with cords. He tested the weight of it in his hands and swung it through the air, satisfied that it still answered his call.

  Haggart found his own armour beneath all the others that had been collected there over the years of campaigning - a mail hauberk under a surcoat of bruised purple. It had been the first piece of armour he'd ever owned and he'd kept it in good condition, refusing to let it rust and fall into disrepair. He strapped the sword of Alfred Dern around his waist and slid the shield over his shoulder.

  “Cloaks,” said the Captain, handing them out. “It may be dark but I still don't want to draw too much attention. Gather the rest of the things near the stairs and I will seal the tomb once more.”

  Lo
rrie and Haggart did so and the Captain slid the stone cover back into place. Then he extinguished the torches and together they returned to the surface.

  In the cool night's air they felt the oppressive weight of the tomb lift and Haggart was glad when the Captain closed the door using his key. They set off back the way they'd come, stopping only when they heard something in the distance.

  “What was that?” asked the Captain.

  “It sounded like...” There was a loud crash of splintering wood, then the wailing of a man in torment. They began to run, crossing the plank bridge and back up to the temple which by now was smouldering from a fire that had been set within. Outside they could see three people on horse back, their spears levelled at Todd and the Priest who were yelling at them, trying to get them to stop the fire.

  “We warned you, old man,” said one of the hooded riders. “We told you we'd be back.”

  “Why burn it? We've done nothing wrong!” cried Todd.

  “The Council won't stand for this none-sense any more. Your temple will be gone by morning – which is what I expect you to do as well.”

  “YOU IDIOTS!” railed the Priest. “We aren't going anywhere, we're...”

  One of the horses reared and as it's hooves came crashing down the rider impaled the Priest with his spear, driving the old man to the floor and riding over him.

  Haggart charged ahead and drew the sword of Alfred Dern, swinging the keen edge down onto the hind quarters of the nearest horse, slicing through it's thigh. The animal wailed and collapsed and the rider slid from his saddle, his leg pinned under the bloody bulk of the horse. The Captain barged straight into Todd, knocking him off his feet as the spear point of the leader, meant for him, skidded off his armour. He lifted his axe high over his head, plunging it down into the neck of the horse and cleaved it in two. The rider went down with it but managed to get to his feet in time and the Captain closed the gap between them, stepping over the dead horse and swinging low with the axe. It missed and the rider thrust his spear again and again, trying to slip between the gaps in his plate. Haggart watched, unable to help because the third rider was upon him, his spear point only just missing his shoulder. With the shield raised he dodged around it but the rider chose to move away from the Captain in order to have more room to manoeuvre the beast. He jabbed again but Haggart deflected it with the edge of the shield and swung the sword downwards, trying to cut the head off. On his third attempt the spear head struck his shield and Haggart swung hard, slamming into the shaft and breaking it clean off. The rider reeled backwards and dropped the stump, reaching for his own sword but it was too late. Haggart leapt forward, smashed the horse's head with the boss of his shield and plunged the tip of his blade into its exposed chest, killing it instantly. The horse fell and as it hit the ground it shattered the rider's leg. Seeing his chance in front of him, he leapt over the animal and drove his sword through the light leather armour of the rider. Then he turned, seeing the Captain block a final attack from the leader before driving his axe down onto his shoulder, separating his arm almost entirely from his body. The rider dropped to his knees with the blood gushing from the horrific wound and moaned. The Captain, in his mercy, swung again and clove his skull in two.