CRY FEAR

by Mike Morris

  cry fear

  Mike Morris

  Contents

  Title

  Dedication

  The story so far

  1. Jack

  2. Shelly

  3. Jack

  4. Lin

  5. Jack

  6. Lin

  7. Jack

  8. Lin

  9. Jack

  10. Lin

  11. Jack

  12. Lin

  13. Jack

  14. Nial

  15. Jack

  16. Lin

  17. Jack

  18. Nial

  19. Jack

  20. Lin

  21. Nial

  22. Jack

  23. Lin

  24. Nial

  25. Jack

  26. Lin

  27. Jack

  28. Lin

  29. Jack

  30. Lin

  31. Jack

  32. Lin

  33. Jack

  34. Lin

  35. Jack

  36. Lin

  37. Willingham

  Afterword

  CRY FEAR

  * * *

  by Mike Morris

  Dedication

  For Tee, Dee and Zee.

  Forever and always.

  The story so far

  When the demons come, you either fight or you die.

  The Black Dogs know this all too well. For seven hundred years, the warrior priests have sacrificed their lives to keep the island nation of Abios safe from the flesh-eating Nostros while the rest of the world fell under the demons' savagery. However, the Nostros have not forgotten mankind's last bastion.

  Child thief Jack Frey was saved from the gallows and forced to join the mysterious order. Taken to a monastery at Whitehaven, he was trained to be an elite warrior.

  Across the Angel Sea, in the Middle Kingdoms ruled by the Nostros, Lin grew up a slave in the demons' service at a castle called Grosnar. She knew death could come at any time.

  In his first mission as a Black Dog, Jack was sent to spy on Grosnar along with his brother Brendan. They discovered the Nostros were building an armada of ships with which they planned to invade Abios.

  As they tried to return with the information, they met Lin, who had escaped from Grosnar. The Nostros pursued them and, in the ensuing battle, Jack was left for dead and Brendan was taken captive. Lin saved Jack's life and returned with him to Abios.

  The Black Dogs sent three ships to destroy the armada before it could set sail. Lin stowed away on board, determined to save the lives of her fellow slaves at the castle. In the course of the mission, Jack found Brendan alive and rescued him. The Nostros armada was destroyed but victory came with heavy losses. Lin returned with Jack, having failed in her attempt to free the slaves of Grosnar.

  Abios was safe. But the Black Dogs knew the Nostros would not stop. Now, every effort is made to prepare for the inevitable invasion.

  The year is 714 Post-Nostros...

  1

  Jack

  Jack Frey shifted his feet and tried to ignore the knot in his stomach that told him trouble was on its way. He put it down to the weather; grey, cold, miserable in every way. Rain that wanted to turn into snow and sleet. It drenched and froze anyone who was stupid enough to be out in it in equal measure. It worked its way down collars and soaked through cloaks, making skin sore and bones ache. The ground was a quagmire that sucked at boots and seeped through leather. The wind made a mockery of any shelter, twisting and turning the rain so it found its way past any hat or awning. A horrid day if ever there was one. A perfect day for a hanging.

  Jack stood to one side of the scaffold and tried to see what bothered him. Rain dripped off the brim of his hat onto his shoulders, and worked its way through his cloak and uniform. By God, he wished he was somewhere else. Somewhere dry, somewhere warm, somewhere he didn't have to watch two fools die.

  It made him angry that any human could betray their own kind. The Nostros were the enemy, after all — the flesh-eating demons that lived across the Angel Sea. They were a foe so terrible all mankind should've been united against them.

  He'd been taught to fear the Nostros since he was old enough to walk. He'd been taught to fight them over ten long years studying at the monastery at Whitehaven. He'd seen their ferocity first-hand on his first mission across the Angel Sea to the Middle Kingdoms. He'd seen it again when he'd been part of the raid to destroy the Nostros' fleet in Grosnar.

  The demons wanted nothing but the enslavement of all mankind, to use humans for food and labor. There was no mercy in them. There was no hope for peace while they lived and breathed.

  For seven hundred years, the kingdom of Abios had remained mankind's last bastion against the Nostros, but that was now about to change.

  The demons were coming for it at last. Jack and the other Knights of Saint Stephen — the Black Dogs — may have destroyed the Nostros' invasion fleet, but no one was under the illusion the threat was no longer there.

  Since Grosnar, the whole nation had been struggling to prepare defenses and build an army to fight the Nostros when they came. The Black Dogs had been working non-stop to ensure the country was ready. It was an all but impossible task with so much coastline to cover. But still they tried. The consequences if they failed were too terrible to think of.

  And yet here they were, about to execute two traitors who wanted to undermine everything, who wanted the Nostros to succeed. That didn't sit well with Jack. Not well at all. To find the demons had their emissaries everywhere, seducing weak fools with empty promises of power was so hard to believe — and yet it was so.

  He glanced over at Lord and Lady Husk of Bridgewater. Vain fools, tempted by the sweet talk of the Nostros into betraying their own kind. Distant cousins to the queen, they should have been upstanding, God-fearing members of the community. Instead, they were traitors. Demon worshipers. Magic users.

  But magic needed blood to power it, and they'd been snatching too many people for it to go unnoticed. Too many travelers had disappeared. Too many children went missing in the local woods. In the end, someone sent word to the Order and asked the Black Dogs to visit.

  Jack had gone with Nial and seven other Black Dogs to investigate.

  It hadn't been difficult. Nial and the lads had turned up just as the good lord and lady were about to sacrifice a local girl — a girl no more than five years of age. The two of them were alone apart from their butler, holding a sacrificial knife on a silver platter like a good servant should. Lord Husk had looked outraged when the Black Dogs came through his door, indignant that he'd been interrupted in a way only the nobility could manage. He'd attempted to bully and bluster his way out of it, but his wealth and rank meant nothing to the Black Dogs.

  He wasn't so cocksure now with a rope around his neck, his skin all white from the cold. There were no fine clothes to keep him warm and dry, just a prisoner's tunic made of rough sacking. What little hair he had left was plastered to his skull and the rain ran off the end of his hawk nose.

  His wife sobbed next to him, praying to God for forgiveness and mercy. But it was too late for that. She should've thought of Him before she took so many innocent lives, before she'd agreed to the Nostros' plans. Once you sold your soul to demons, there was no going back. Jack felt no sympathy for them. He'd seen for himself what evil magic caused. He'd once faced a rogue priest who'd turned out to be a witch. The man killed seven knights before Jack cut his head off. As far as he was concerned, they were as bad as the Nostros. They deserved a short drop and a dance.

  The only thing that had surprised Jack was that the lord and lady refused to tell how they were communicating with the Nostros, or who else was in their employ. Even torture hadn't loosened their tongues.

  All in all, it was a na
sty business, but that still wasn't what bothered Jack.

  Bridgewater was an old town, built around the church and the market square where the scaffold now stood. Four roads led to it, each bordered with clusters of small cottages that housed the local traders and farm workers. Not the sort of place that should have to suffer such horrors. It was a close community, where everyone knew everyone and looked after each other. Despite the weather, it looked like they'd all come out to watch the hanging of their lord and lady. A lot of angry faces eager to see justice done.

  Jack looked over the men with him. Nine of the best. Men he'd been through hell with at Grosnar. Nearly all of them legends.

  Their leader, Nial stood next to the scaffold, watching everything. He was a giant of a man with thinning blond hair and Jack would happily follow him anywhere. Nial cared about his men and did his best to keep them alive. As a soldier, there wasn't much more you could ask. Jack had been part of his team since the raid on Grosnar and his awe of the man had only grown in that time. He made everything look so easy, and always had a plan for every situation. Nothing ever fazed him.

  The rest stood between the crowd and the scaffold. Quiet Alan with his stone-cold eyes shining under his hat, the deadliest man Jack knew with a blade or a bullet. Will, all miserable because his perfect uniform was getting ruined. Robert with that big hammer of his in his hands, his voice booming over the crowd as he joked with one of the locals — even shit weather couldn't put him in a bad mood. Stuart was next to him, fidgeting as usual. He always got jumpy at the prospect of trouble, but was cold as ice once the fighting started. Guy scowled over that broken nose of his, pissed off like he always was. At least this time, the weather gave him good cause to moan. Adrian, who you never played cards with, was next to him, trying to convince some old farmer to step back. Then there was Edward. Another veteran, he'd joined the order the same time Nial had. They were of the same height, but Edward had lost his hair long ago and his eyes looked permanently tired. He held the rope that would open the trapdoor to let the lord and lady drop. Last was Erik, Jack's closest friend. Both of them were six months in with the team. Barely more than pups, but already they'd seen more than their fair share of action. It was Jack after all who'd discovered the Nostros fleet being readied to invade Abios, and nearly lost his life in the process. They'd all gone on the raid to Grosnar to destroy it; a bloody business. Only a handful had made it back alive.

  Eight good men. None better. Still, there were a lot of people in the crowd. A lot to handle. Even for these men. But still, it wasn't the crowd that bothered Jack. It was something in the air. Something ...

  "It's time," Edward called out to Nial.

  Nial looked up at the sky, nodded.

  The rain came down hard and at an angle, stinging Jack's face. Miserable weather for a miserable day. That was all it was. Just a bad day for a hanging. Best to get it over with. Jack was being paranoid.

  "People of Bridgewater!" Nial called out. All faces turned toward him. "By the power vested in me by God and Her Majesty, Queen Eliza, I stand before you in judgment of the accused, Lord and Lady Husk of this parish."

  A murmur of voices broke out in the crowd, full of discontent.

  "They have been found guilty of murder and magic, and are traitors to the throne. By the power vested in me, I sentence them to death!" He raised his arm, ready to give the signal to Edward to open the hatch under the accused's feet to create the short drop that would snap their necks, a more merciful death than slow strangulation by the rope. Far better than they deserved.

  "Stop, witchfinder!" cried a voice. Everyone froze. "I challenge your power here! I say no." And there it was. Trouble. Jack hated being right.

  The voice came from the back of the crowd, where the town square disappeared into a maze of small streets and houses. Jack craned his neck to see who had spoken but couldn't see because of the crowd. Then the crowd parted and a rider came into view, wearing a blood-red cloak and a hood that hid his face in shadow.

  "Who are you, sir, to challenge the throne?" called Nial. "Who are you who doesn't even have the courage to show his face?"

  Jack could feel the first tingles of blood coursing through his veins, getting him ready for action, overriding the aches and pains.

  The rider raised his hands to his hood, paused for a moment, then pulled it back, revealing a silver mask covering his face.

  Someone screamed in the crowd.

  "I don't recognize your authority," said the rider. "It is I who sentence you and your men to die!" The man unsheathed his sword and raised it above his head.

  Alan shot him in the chest, knocking him from his saddle.

  The man lay still on the ground, his cloak covering him, spread around him like blood. The man's sword lay near his right hand.

  "Check the body," said Nial.

  Adrian walked over. He bent over the body.

  The rider's sword swung up, slicing Adrian from ear to ear. As Adrian fell, the rider rose, pulling the pistol from the holster on Adrian's chest as he did so.

  The crowd went into pandemonium at the sight of a dead man come back to life. People scattered everywhere, trying to get away.

  "Alan!" shouted Nial over the screams and shouts, drawing his own weapons as Alan shot the rider a second time. The man staggered, hit in the chest, but somehow he managed to stay on his feet. He aimed the pistol and shot Will. The bullet ripped a hole through the priest's head, exiting in a shower of blood, brains and hair, and the second Black Dog fell.

  Robert ran toward the man, swinging his hammer upward as he did so. The rider just managed to parry it with his sword but he couldn't stop Robert's momentum. Robert bundled into him, sending the rider sprawling. As he tried getting to his feet, Robert reversed the hammer swing. It crunched into the side of the man's head.

  The silver mask arced through the air with a spray of blood. It landed with a clang and wobbled for a moment before coming to rest, facing Nial.

  "He's not getting up this time." Robert prodded the body with his hammer. "The man's got body armor. That's how he survived those shots."

  "Keep an eye out for any more surprises, everyone," shouted Nial. "Edward?"

  "Yes, boss," replied Edward.

  "Hang these bastards now."

  "No!" screamed Lord Husk as Edward pulled the rope and the trap swung open. His feet kicked the empty space. The lord and lady dropped two feet, stopping with a jerk and two sharp cracks as their necks broke. Jack watched their bodies dance a last jig as life left them.

  "Boss!" called Alan. "Company."

  That got Jack's attention back on his surroundings. His hand tightened on the grip of his sword.

  Red cloaks flooded toward them from the eastern road. They were on foot, carrying weapons. Jack drew his sword as he counted them. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty. Still they came on. Silver masks hid their faces but there was no hiding their intent. Twenty-five, thirty. A small force. How had the Nostros found so many supporters in Abios? So many men willing to betray their country, their queen, their race?

  Nial checked his men, called out their names, told them to be careful.

  Jack hoped they'd lose no more this day. The two fallen were enough. But these were bad odds they faced. Even if the attackers weren't skilled fighters, the sheer weight of numbers could finish them.

  "Men! Form on me!" Nial called and all rushed to his side, standing shoulder to shoulder in a circle. Seven against thirty. Not good. Then again, when did a Black Dog enjoy favorable odds?

  Nial faced the oncoming crowd. "Stop while you still have time. Your lord is dead and has paid the price for his evil ways. You still have a chance to redeem yourselves. Proceed any further and you will join him in eternal damnation."

  His words fell on deaf ears as the mob encircled them.

  Jack looked for the one who would attack first. To see who would tip them over from threat to action.

  "Death to the Black Dogs!" someone cried from the rear of the group. Another v
oice joined the call, and then another. "Death to the Black Dogs! Death! Death!"

  Edward began to pray, not out of fear but for strength. The words were but a whisper, but they were words ingrained in their hearts and quickly taken up by all. "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us your strength in the night, and protect us from the darkness as we protect those who need our strength, and lead us not into danger, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."

  The attackers swirled toward them in their red cloaks, angry voices shouting, weapons raised above their heads, jabbing, poking.

  "Wait for them," Nial said. "Hold the line."

  A redcloak screamed and rushed from the pack to attack, swinging a scythe. Alan's sword swept out, a blur of silver, cutting through the rain, into the redcloak, striking home. He fell, but that was enough of a signal for the rest to attack.

  Then the redcloaks were upon them. And it was butchery.

  For most people not used to battle, their senses would dull to a tight point of view, almost tunnel vision. Events sped up as adrenaline took over. Blood roared through the ears and, as the heartbeat thundered in their chests, the most basic movements could become difficult. Being part of a crowd made it even worse as they were carried along, becoming one. They never thought about how to attack, but acted on instinct, swept along in the chaos.