by Greg Curtis
But Simon hadn't quite worked out the time and the place to do it. Until Vesar had announced the previous evening that he would have the answer to his problems ready for him to see the following morning in the courtyard. It was then that Simon had known he had to act. Because whatever the priest had to show him he was certain it wouldn't be the army he claimed. It was a trap being readied to be sprung.
So Simon had had his men set up an ambush for the advisor and his soldiers. A trap within a trap. While Vesar's men surrounded the courtyard, standing at a respectable distance from their leader, his men were on the ramparts of the castle walls looking down on things and supposedly protecting the castle from attack. Normally they were supposed to be there to stand watch looking for enemies coming from outside the castle. From the city. But now there were more of them on the ramparts, just waiting for the command. And it was a matter of simply turning around to shoot down on the royal guard, something Vesar should have considered. There were more men hidden in the various barracks and guard houses that Simon had had rebuilt, not to mention a waiting cannon. But then what did a priest know of strategy? Soon though, he'd learn a lesson in it – before he died.
The priest was standing in the middle of the courtyard waiting for him, and underneath his veil Simon was sure he was smiling. What he was smiling about though, Simon had no idea. The pile of polished steel parts beside him? It didn't look like anything to be pleased with. It looked like something to send off to the smiths for repair.
“Vesar.” Simon greeted his advisor unenthusiastically. It was becoming his normal way of greeting him as the man constantly disappointed him. But soon he promised himself, he wasn't going to have to be disappointed ever again. Vesar's death was only moments away and it would be very satisfying indeed.
“Your Majesty.” Vesar bowed low in what Simon was sure was mockery.
If he was becoming angered by his advisor then he knew his advisor was having similar thoughts about him. In truth if Simon hadn't arranged this ambush now he was sure Vesar would have arranged something similar for him very shortly. Always assuming that this wasn't it. And it looked very much as if it was.
“This is your masterpiece? Your unstoppable army? This pile of parts?” The king gestured at the mound of scrap metal beside the black priest, unimpressed. This was no army. It was all some sort of jape. It had to be. But it wasn't very funny. But then it was probably only meant to lure him out into the courtyard where he could be captured or killed.
“Why yes Your Majesty. This is the first of your new soldiers. The means by which you will destroy your enemies and conquer new lands.”
More mockery. And in truth treachery. It was hard to tell anything about a man when he covered his face so and spoke in such polished tones, but the king was certain of it.
“I've seen enough.” Simon turned on his heels, disgusted with himself for having placed as much faith as he had in the advisor, and headed back for the castle. When the musket balls started flying he wanted to be well clear.
“Your Majesty! Surely you want to see what all the effort your servants have gone to has wrought?”
Vesar actually managed to sound hurt, something that caught Simon by surprise. But of course he knew it was only an act. Still, he stopped and turned back to face him.
“Not really. You've failed me once more and now you chose to mock me as well.” Then he turned back to the castle and continued on his way.
“Your Majesty!” Simon ignored Vesar's pleas, unsure why the man was even making them. He knew what he'd done. He should even know what Simon was going to do about it. There could be little doubt anymore. The only thing the priest shouldn't know was how soon he'd do it.
The king finally reached the massive oak doors leading to the castle, then stopped and turned around once more. It was time.
“Now!” He yelled it out as loudly as he could and was instantly rewarded with the sound of gunfire coming from all around. His soldiers, even if they were mercenaries, were loyal. They were also good shots, and he watched a dozen of the royal guard take hits and fall to the ground. Vesar took a hit too even as he was opening his mouth to scream something. But he didn't fall to the ground. Instead he just stood there, undoubtedly angry.
A second volley rang out from above, and more of the Royal Guard fell to the ground in front of him. Half of them were dead by then and Simon knew the rest would be soon. Everything had gone exactly according to his plan. At least one of them knew how to plan.
But then things started falling apart though at first Simon didn't realise it.
His soldiers were reloading, their muskets empty and that gave the remaining royal guards the time they needed to run for the ramparts. But that was a mistake. Even as the first of them reached the stairs leading to them the charges went off and another dozen of the veiled soldiers were blown to pieces. More important than that however, it meant that the royal guards couldn't reach them, giving his soldiers a safe place from which to keep shooting. They could keep shooting until they ran out of ammunition. But even as he celebrated Simon noticed that some of those who had fallen were getting back up. That was wrong. Dead men didn't get back up.
Maybe they had been only wounded? Simon tried to tell himself that but as he watched more and more of them getting back up he knew it was wrong. Something else was at work here. Something bad. Meanwhile Vesar was crouched beside his collection of steel parts, his arm clutched to his chest as he whispered some sort of spell over them. Simon knew, he couldn't allow that. Things weren't going well and he couldn't let them get any worse. Especially when Vesar was still standing.
He drew his pistols, took careful aim, and fired, the first shot smashing into Vesar's heart. If the black priest had such a thing. It knocked him back a little, but didn't stop him from continuing his spell. So Simon aimed his second pistol straight at his advisor's head. It hit. Despite many people's belief that he was lazy he had trained with the pistols and he normally hit what he aimed at. But the shot didn't kill the priest. It just made him angry.
Vesar looked up at him from the ground, and for the first time Simon could see much of his face as the lead ball had torn away his veil. He was shocked. More than shocked, he was horrified.
Vesar wasn't human. He wasn't even close to human. Nor was he demon or dryad or even satyr. Grey skin, wrinkles and fangs. That was what he saw. Though they weren't really fangs so much as tusks. Small tusks protruding from his mouth. But there was more wrong with him than that. Much more. He was bleeding from where the musket ball had struck him high on the cheek, but the blood wasn't red. It was dark purple, almost black. And it moved slowly; too thick to run.
“What are you?”
Simon screamed it at the creature, for some reason expecting an answer. But he wasn't going to get one. Instead Vesar returned to his spell, muttering his words over the pile of steel parts, and Simon knew that whatever that was supposed to be, it was dangerous. It had to be if he was going to spend his time casting the spell even in the middle of battle.
A cannon fired then, startling them both. The soldiers at the gate had turned the cannon around as they had planned, and the shot had smashed into the nearest of the royal guards, shredding them. They weren't getting up again. Not when at least a dozen of them were in pieces. There were body parts strewn everywhere. But unfortunately for the cannoneers, they had finally been noticed. Two dozen of the royal guards ran for them, finally having a target within reach, and the battle was over before it even began. The six men went down, torn to pieces in seconds. Simon knew they were only going to be the first of many.
Simon started reloading his pistols frantically, wishing they were the bigger four barrel monstrosities his brother carried. Those things would rip apart Vesar where his smaller duelling pistols simply didn't have the power. That was why the guards were getting back up he knew. Normal muskets simply didn't have the power to cut all the way through their hide.
Still, his men tried again, firing another volley at the ro
yal guards, knocking a few more of them down. But not the important one. The others were mere soldiers, Vesar was the leader and he needed to die. Quickly.
By the time Simon had reloaded both pistols he knew it was too late. Something was happening to the pile of steel parts. They were moving, somehow seeming to assemble themselves into something, and Vesar was looking down upon them with a terrible smile on his hideous face. That became Simon's target, and he put both shots straight into that smile.
Vesar snarled and turned away clutching at his mouth, and the king knew he was hurt. But he also knew he wasn't down. He knew it so very clearly when he watched Vesar turn to face him, stand up and draw his sword. A sword Simon hadn't even known the priest carried. It must have been hidden somewhere under his robes.
His face was damaged, badly. There was more blood and one of his tusks and a whole lot of teeth were missing. The other musket ball had smashed into the side of his face and whatever damage it had done was hidden by his hood. But still Simon could see more blood trickling down his neck, disappearing into his robes and he hoped it was enough to slow him down. It had to be as he wasn't going to get another chance to shoot him.
Simon drew his sword and waited for his former adviser to come to him, all the while making sure of his footing on the cobbled courtyard. He might not practice a lot with his sword but he knew enough to remember the basics. He hoped the advisor wasn't so well versed in his swordsmanship.
But even as he did so the pile of steel parts was assembling itself into something big and nasty looking. Something that seemed to have metal plates like those of a suit of armour encasing some sort of wind storm. Something evil.
Then Vesar reached him and it was too late to worry about it. Vesar's blade came straight for his head and Simon had to dodge even as he used his duelling sword to parry the blow, and then counter attacked. Punching with his left hand at where Vesar's chest should be. But what his fist hit didn't feel like a normal chest. It felt like cloth covering thick bark, and his blow seemed to do nothing to the advisor. He just laughed at him and swung his heavier sword at him again, seeking to take his arm off at the shoulder.
Simon dived to his side, away from the deadly blow, and then countered with a strike at Vesar's sword arm as it passed him by. This time he did the advisor some damage. Enough to make him grunt something at him angrily. But not enough to make him drop the sword.
“What was that Vesar? You seem to be mumbling.” Simon mocked his advisor, thinking to put him off balance and it seemed to work. Vesar snarled at him in anger. He actually snarled at him like a wild beast. But he didn't let his anger cause him to make a mistake. He controlled it. And in time he controlled his mouth too.
“You think you'll escape this Your Majesty, don't you? You think you'll get away somehow? But you won't.” Vesar managed a small flourish with his blade, drawing Simon's eyes, and then when he was distracted Vesar tried a small lunge at his shoulder. He only just missed.
“We have your scent. Your foul odour. Every one of the Royal Guard knows it. And even if you somehow get away today you'll be hunted down. For this betrayal there will be no end. We will hunt you to the ends of the world.”
“Come now ugly. You're just upset because I struck first!”
Simon's words hit a nerve and Vesar snarled once more, enraged beyond reason. That was Simon's chance to attack and so he let the tip of his blade strike straight at the advisor's vital parts, and causing him to back off and parry as best he could with his heavier blade. For a while Simon even thought he had the advantage as his enemy was too slow and his blade had not been designed for stabbing. But Vesar had more tricks up his sleeve, and after a particularly nice strike had cut deep into his shoulder he demonstrated one, pulling out a dagger and throwing it at him.
It hit, burying itself deep in Simon's thigh and he knew then that he was in trouble. The wound would slow him, restrict his ability to dodge and give Vesar the edge he needed. But at the same time Simon knew he had to be damaged himself. When the tip of Simon's blade was covered in several inches of dark purple blood the priest couldn't be in the best of shape.
But Vesar didn't seem to understand that as he came swinging for him once more, and Simon had to start parrying. He just seemed angry. Though in truth with that face, he naturally looked angry. Still, his blows had the strength of rage behind them and he didn't seem to be tiring. In fact little by little he was driving the king back. Back into the castle's door. And all the while he was screaming at him about the terrible death he was going to suffer when the hounds had him in their teeth.
And then just when things seemed to be going so wrong, they got worse. The steel creature finally finished assembling itself and roared. A sound of primal fury and steel scraping on stone that chilled the blood. Little flashes of light that he knew were musket balls bouncing off it, danced in his vision. They did nothing to it. He wasn't sure that anything could.
“You like my golem Your Majesty?”
Vesar mocked him as he kept swinging, trying to distract him. Perhaps to make him angry so he'd make a mistake. But Simon wasn't stupid enough to fall for the trick.
“Better than your face!”
The adviser snarled in anger again – he seemed to be peculiarly sensitive about his appearance – and that was all the distraction Simon needed. Instead of parrying his next blow, he ducked under it, letting the heavy sword sail over his head and then as quickly as he could, sent the tip of his blade deep into the flesh of the priest's arm. It was a clean strike, a thing of beauty, and Vesar screamed with pain. Better yet he backed away, clutching his arm to him, sword still in it, and that gave Simon his next target.
He lunged forward, a little awkwardly with one leg not working as it should, and buried a good six inches of his sword in Vesar's belly.
The adviser fell backwards screaming and Simon celebrated. But that was all the celebrating he was able to do. He wanted to lunge forward and finish the job, driving the point of his sword through Vesar's black heart, but he couldn't. Not when a good dozen more of the royal guards were suddenly running for him, swords raised to chop him into little pieces. The duel was over.
Instead of facing them, Simon hurried back into the castle – it was lucky he was so close to the courtyard door – and then pulled the massive oak doors shut behind him. Only just in time as he heard the sounds of heavy steel objects smashing into them. But it was enough time to slam the huge bar home into its slots and secure the door.
He was safe. For the moment. But of course there were more dangers inside. More royal guards. He spotted the first two of them standing at the entrance to the throne room not fifty paces from where he stood, just as they spotted him. But they didn't know what was going on. They hadn't been close enough to hear exactly what was happening outside and there were no windows on this floor. And luckily this was one of the few parts of the castle that hadn't been damaged by the mammoths allowing them to see through the broken walls. That gave him his chance and he took it.
“Guard the doors! The castle's under attack!” He screamed it at them, and maybe the urgency in his voice and the dagger in his leg convinced them. They ran past him, never realising that he was the one who had attacked them. Meanwhile he limped past them, heading for safety.
“Whatever you do don't let anyone through that door! They got Vesar and they'll kill the rest of us!” That he figured should hold them, and he limped as quickly as he could for the library and his only hope. On the way there he spotted several more guards and quickly had them joining their comrades at the door with more lies. Whatever these creatures were they were at least gullible. They were also obedient. They'd been ordered to remain at their posts and despite the battle outside, the noise of which they surely had heard, they hadn't moved. Obviously they were obedient to the point of stupid.
There was an explosion somewhere behind him as he reached the library doors, and he wondered what it was. It didn't sound like a cannon exactly, although it was just as loud and
it shook the entire castle. But whatever it was didn't matter. Not when he could slam the library doors shut behind him and then swing the bar into place. It was fortunate that the castle had been designed to protect against attackers even if they somehow broke through the walls.
He was safe! But not really. Not yet. Simon collapsed on to the edge of one of the massive writing desks, breathing heavily. For a few minutes more or less, he knew he would be safe. Until they came through the courtyard door and his lies were exposed. After that it wouldn't take them long to find him. Not when the guards had seen where he was heading and he was dripping blood all over the floor. He had to go.
Another massive explosion rocked the castle then and he wondered what was happening out there. But whatever it was he knew it wasn't good for his soldiers. Not that he cared. The longer they fought the more time he had to escape. And escape had to begin with two working legs.
He didn't want to, he trembled at the thought, but somehow Simon found his hand on the hilt of the dagger still buried in his thigh, and he pulled it free with a single terrible heave. He screamed in pain and then screamed some more. A lot more. The pain was unbearable. Fire burned through his entire leg. But it had had to be done. As he ripped a small length of green velvet free from the sash that held the curtains back to tie around his leg and staunch the bleeding he knew that. He also knew that there was an escape tunnel directly under the library. That was why he'd come here.