Haggart's Dawn

by Martyn J. Pass

  “The boy is a Summoner,” said the Captain.

  “Aye, it's sensing our presence in the stable. He can feel it and so can I.” Haggart looked at both the machine and the boy. Then the few pieces of the puzzle he had in his mind fitted into place and he held out his hand, palm up forming a small blue ball of light. It shone like lightning and crackled as it turned suddenly into a brilliant white flash of frozen starlight. The machine thrummed into life, pulsing and throbbing as it fed on the energy so close to its hungry appendages. Haggart walked over to the boy very slowly and placed his hands on his trembling shoulders, directing his thoughts onto him.

  “Haggart?” said the Captain, suddenly having to back away from the machine as it began to vibrate and shake, rocking on its wheels as if there was some great fly wheel on the verge of spinning out of control.

  “Just... a... moment...” managed Haggart. “There... done...”

  Haggart stood up and the boy followed him out of the corner and into the middle of the barn.

  “Thank you... but... how?” said the boy. Haggart looked at him in the light from a torch. No longer did the boy arch his back with deformity or dribble through his faulty lips. Standing before the Captain was a beautiful young lad with a shock of curly flaxen hair, keen blue eyes and a lithe, healthy frame. He was grinning and laughing as he examined his own form, touching his face with delicate fingertips, searching for any traces of the grotesque shadow that had dogged him all his short life.

  “What in the name of...” the Captain gasped.

  “It's the machine. I know now what they do - they harness and intensify Summoning power. An act like this would have killed me without it. That's why it draws hunters. That's why Summoners can feel its presence.”

  He turned to the boy and said: “You need to leave. Once they find out I don't know how they'll respond. I was able to remove the brand on your shoulder so with any luck they won't be able to recognise you.”

  The boy threw his arms around Haggart and squeezed the air out of him. “Thank you,” he said. Then he grabbed a sack from the corner he lived in, unhitched a horse from the stable and led it out into the darkness. Then he was gone.

  “We'd better get out of here, someone is bound to have heard something.”

  Haggart woke in the morning pale and sickly. He'd hardly slept and the Captain guessed what he suffered from the moment he saw him drag himself from his bed.

  “That machine,” he said.

  “Aye. I’ve seen its victims - the ones who are fed to it. Their memories, their lives, all feasted on by those... things. I don't even know if we can call them machines now. They seem so... alive...” Haggart said. “That's why I’ve not slept. I should be fine in a day or two.”

  Lorrie gazed out of a clean patch she'd wiped into the window whilst the others shuffled around the room rubbing sleep from their eyes and fleas from their clothes. Talbert was picking them out of his blankets and rubbing his trouser legs to shake them loose.

  “They're little buggers,” he cried, crushing one between his fingernails. “They just don't die!”

  “What happened to you two?” said Lorrie. “I heard you come in late.”

  The Captain explained what had happened while Haggart dressed. When he'd finished, the Captain said:

  “We ride in armour from now on and we'll waste no more time. We have enough supplies to take us there so we'll not spare the lash.”

  “I'm with you on that one,” said Haggart. “It bothers me that Aaron had these infernal bloody things all along and I can guess why he was so eager to destroy them when he thought he was about to lose the war. Imagine what damage could have been done if he'd succeeded in mastering their use? I shudder at the thought of it.”

  “My conclusion is that the real reason the overthrow took place was because the Council already knew about the machines and planned to stop him. How and why are beyond me at this point. Suffice it to say the answers lie south which is just where we're heading,” said the Captain.

  Haggart fastened on his mail and gathered his things. He still felt a little unsteady but he was able to walk to the door and follow them across the landing and down the stairs into the pub itself.

  “There they are!” said a voice as they reached the door to the stable. Haggart turned and saw that the landlord had admitted four armed strangers into the parlour and they stood behind him with their hands on their hilts. “Where is he?”

  “Excuse me?” said the Captain.

  “Where's that bastard of a stable boy? I’ve got a horse missing and no boy to answer for it. What have you done with him?” cried the landlord, his face flushed red with rage.

  “Nothing, and we know the same about the horse. If one of our mounts is missing it will be you answering for it, not some defenceless child.”

  “It wasn't one of yours, would you believe it, but one of these fine gentlemen's and they're not too happy about it either.” All four had gripped their weapons and Haggart could see that their next movements were already planned, the details of which were etched onto their expressions like a map.

  “We've been set up,” muttered Haggart to the Captain.

  “Aye lad. But I’ve been spoiling for a decent ruck since we left the Helm. I for one am glad these four are going to oblige us.” To John, Talbert and Lorrie he turned his head without taking his eyes off the four. “Gather the horses, be ready for us in a moment.”

  “Aye, Captain,” said John and together they withdrew to the stables.

  The four took it as a sign to begin. Haggart drew his sword with one hand and the dirk with the other. The Captain grabbed a chair and threw it at them before charging head long into them with his axe above his head and a snarl upon his features. The nearest one to Haggart came at him with his club, aiming to cave his skull in with a single blow. It was a mistake he paid for with his own fragile life when Haggart spun to the left, allowing the club to pass him by and slid the point of his dirk into his exposed ribs. With his sword arm free to strike he cleaved the man's hand off at the wrist and without the slightest hesitation advanced towards the second attacker. This one had chosen to hold back as the Captain had charged, allowing his two other friends to attempt to bring him down at the first strike. The Captain, obliging as always, allowed their weapons to skid across his breast plate before bringing his axe down on the shoulder of the man on the left. His arm parted with his body and split skin and bone right down to his armpit where it hung there by a thread of flesh. The other man fell into a table, landing face down just as the Captain stamped his boot onto the back of his head. Blood and bone splintered out from under his foot and both were now very much dead.

  “Would you like the same?” asked Haggart of the last man standing. He swung a small mace through the air missing Haggart by a yard, then brought it back the other way to strike his helm in a twisted flurry. Twice he missed just as the dirk found its way into his lung. He collapsed to his knees, sucking air in through the bubbling wound and spent a moment staring at the wall before Haggart removed his head from his shoulders.

  The landlord, pale and quivering by the bar, held his hands up and begged for mercy. The Captain was already rifling through the bodies, looking for loot.

  “Anything?” asked Haggart, steadying himself.

  “Some coin. A necklace - stolen no doubt. Ah ha.” He produced a folded piece of paper from the leader. “I wonder what this could be then?”

  The will be five travellers. One wears the armour of our Great King. The other is

  a Summoner. Three young ones and a girl. All must die. Their bodies must not

  be found. Do this and receive your handsome rewards.

  M.

  Haggart read the paper. “Care to explain?” he asked the landlord.

  “I... they came yesterday, after you did... I...” he mumbled.

  “Where did they come from? Have you seen them before?” asked the Captain.

  “I don't know... I’ve seen them before... Last summer I t
hink. Please don't kill me. Just leave, please.”

  Haggart took two bottles of liquor from the shelf. “Payment for our troubles,” he said.

  “Yes, yes, take anything you want, please just leave.”

  The Captain and Haggart left through the stable door and found that the machine was gone. John and Lorrie had saddled the horses and Talbert was leading his own along with the pack horse out of the barn.

  “I think we'd better leave,” said the Captain.

  “What about the others? The Slaves?” said John.

  “There is nothing we can do - for now,” replied the Captain. “But don't lose hope just yet.”

  Together they rode onto the street and fled the town of Hammergall as quickly as possible.

  They rode hard all morning, putting as many miles between themselves and Hammergall as they could but by mid-afternoon they were forced to stop and let the horses breathe or else risk losing their mounts. It was beside a fast moving river that they had their dinner, eating while wiping down the animals and filling their skins with fresh water.

  “As soon as we can we'll make for the low lands,” said the Captain.

  “Will they send more after us?” asked John.

  “I expect so now that we've killed four of them. Who ever this 'M' is he'll want to make sure we don't live long enough to brag about slaying his work force.”

  “They knew about us,” said Haggart. “Me and you at least and descriptions of the others.”

  “Aye, that bothers me as well. It's quite possible that this 'M' had his own people in our pub and saw us leave. I suspect he's connected us to the destruction of Hector's machine and doesn't want us repeating the performance.”

  “Which means that we can expect more of them,” added Talbert. “They'll have realised where we're heading by now. We should expect an ambush along the way.”

  Haggart raised an eyebrow at the Captain. “The boy speaks the truth of it for a change,” he said, laughing.

  “We might make a soldier of him yet!” replied the Captain.

  They ate as much as they could, thankful that they'd had the initiative to resupply before having to flee. The bleak, dismal town of Hammergall was far behind them now, beyond the horizon, and the landscape they rode through was lush and verdant once more and the hills were sprinkled with the last of the wild plants that swayed in the cool breeze. Winter was on its way and here and there a smattering of twisted bare branches clawed up towards the sky pleading for the return of the summer.

  Once the horses looked ready to ride, they mounted them once more and at a slow trot, continued onwards into the dense woodland that lay to the south-west. Haggart, still uneasy from the Summoning the night before, sat rigid in his saddle and wondered if he was only upright because his armour held him there. Behind his eyes he could still see them, hear them, their screams piercing his heart as the tubes sucked the marrow out of their bones.

  Lorrie seemed to have noticed the pain he was in and rode a little closer to him.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. Haggart cleared his throat and nodded.

  “I'm fine, love. I just feel a little queasy, that's all.”

  “I'm not convinced,” she said. “The Captain told me about last night. What you did. Is it true? You transformed that poor boy?”

  “Yes.”

  “That's amazing. At least some good may have come from those infernal machines. I would love to be able to do that for someone, someday.”

  “I hope you never have to,” said Haggart. “It came with a price.”

  “The Captain told me about that too. It's true then?”

  “Yes.”

  “I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No.”

  They rode in silence for a long time and Haggart felt himself dozing in his saddle. His eye lids felt heavy and he thought to close them for a few moments whilst the horse carried him along. Before he knew it, he found himself walking in green fields again. The sky was clear as crystal and the golden sun gave everything a gilt edged glow. He breathed in the scent of the cut grass beneath his feet, felt the dew under them but it was not cold at all. He stepped slowly along the path and he knew that she was there. She led in a clearing with a blanket beneath her and her supple, beautiful body propped up against a tree, reading a book. She didn't turn from it. She licked her delicate fingertips and turned the page instead.

  “I didn't think you'd come,” she said. He'd missed that voice so much. “Here, sit.” She patted the space next to her and he sat.

  “What are you reading?” he asked.

  “Percival's Verse,” she replied. “Would you like to hear some?”

  “Very much,” he said.

  Then he realised he'd been dreaming and was amazed that he hadn't fallen from his horse.

  “...where death can never take them...”

  “What did you say?” asked the Captain. Haggart blinked back the stinging tears from his eyes.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “Nothing at all.”

  The ambush came quicker than even Talbert had imagined. Ten riders, armed, coming down from the eastern hills as they descended into a valley. It was John who saw them first and readied his bow.

  “Dad!” he yelled, loosing an arrow and fitting another. Talbert had his cross bow in his arms and he fired, jumping down from his horse to reload.

  “Haggart, go right,” roared the Captain, galloping forward and breaking left.

  Two riders had been felled by the arrows, the other eight split and four went straight for Haggart. He pushed his horse on, leaping a boulder and putting an oak between them, turning a sharp right. An arrow barely missed him and another struck his helmet. He raised his shield and wheeled around, coming at them on the left. His horse was faster than theirs and bred for war - it fearlessly charged the rear rider enabling him to strike his mount's head, slicing off part of its face. The horse collapsed and threw its rider, rolling and landing on top of him. The other three were already turning to face him and he halted, waiting.

  They rode as one, their leader moving to pass him on the left, the other two on his right in quick succession. An arrow from John killed the first, a bolt from Talbert the second. The leader, undaunted by their demise, charged Haggart with his axe held high over his head. He turned in his saddle and allowed the weapon to come down on the edge of his shield and with one swift yank he tore it from his hand. The leader rode past, drawing a sword and turning again. Haggart faced him once more.

  The man let out a cry of frustration and dug his heels into his horse. Haggart stood motionless and allowed him to come. Just before he was able to swing his blade, Haggart ducked, allowing him to impale himself on his sword and his own weapon to crash harmlessly into the boss of his shield. The speed with which he came riding past tore Haggart's sword out of his hand.

  The Captain was now fighting on his own feet having leapt from his horse once he'd dismounted his four opponents one after the other. They circled him, one with a bolt through his thigh, the other holding his arm where John had pinned it to his chest. All were well armed yet all were wearing only the lightest armour to speed their pursuit.

  “Are you safe?” Haggart called to Lorrie who, though pale, nodded. John and Talbert stood guard over her. “Captain?”

  “I'm fine here, start looting. I'll finish these in a moment,” he replied, swinging his axe and killing the first, the one with the bolt in his leg.

  Haggart went back and retrieved his sword. The man was clutching his stomach and moaning softly to himself until Haggart wrenched his weapon out of his belly. Some of his insides came with it.

  “You don't raise a weapon over your head unless you've protected your body. That's basic, my friend,” he said to him and sat down opposite him on the grass. The Captain killed another with a roar of triumph.

  “I...” the man managed to gargle.

  “Who sent you?”

  “He will...”

  “Kill you? Not really something you sh
ould be worrying about right now. Who?”

  “Help me...”

  “I will. Tell me the name first.”

  “Mar... Mar...”

  “Well?”

  “Marcus...”

  “The brother of Hector?”

  “Yes...”

  “We thought as much.”

  “Help me... please...”

  Haggart laid his hand on the man's cold, sweating forehead and sighed. “Are you married?”

  “Yes...”

  “Then think of her.”

  The man smiled as Haggart drew the memory from him and pushed it into his mind - past the pain and the sadness, beyond the horror and the shame of dying. Then he plunged his sword into his heart. He convulsed once and died there in the field. Haggart rose to his feet as the Captain hewed the legs out from under his last opponent. The man fell, screaming, until on the reverse stroke the Captain split his skull in two.

  “Well?” he gasped, leaning on the shaft of his axe. “What did he have to say for himself?”

  “Hector's brother is named Marcus. He's the one who sent them,” replied Haggart, removing his helmet and loosening the fastenings of his mail from around his neck. Hot beads of sweat trickled down his spine and his hands were trembling.

  “He sends mercenaries after us now.”

  “It would seem so. I don't think he'll repeat the mistake, mind.”

  Lorrie and the others rode towards them, satisfied there were no more men lurking in the surrounding area.

  “Excellent marksmanship, lads,” said the Captain. “Even you, Talbert.”

  “Gee, thanks,” he said as he removed the bolt from the bow and replaced it in his quiver. “I'm going to check the bodies, grab my bolts too.”

  “I'll join you,” said the Captain. “John, gather the horses.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Haggart turned to Lorrie. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine. Please don't worry about me - I was well protected,” she said, nodding towards John who was reigning in the Captain's mount.