by Mike Morris
"Look at this beauty," said Robert, holding up a large war hammer. "Now I feel ready to fight again." Jack couldn't help but smile. Seeing his friend with his famous weapon again made him think for a moment they might have a chance to survive the night.
A priest ran over to them as Robert helped himself to some pistols. "Brothers — the abbot wishes to see you."
"He's not going to try and stop us leaving, is he?" asked Robert. "Because if he is, I'm walking straight out the gate."
"No, brother. We've had a message from the palace."
Robert glanced at Jack. They both knew nothing good was in that message. "Take us to him, then."
The abbot waited by the memorial cauldron. The flames flickered in the winter breeze. "Brothers, it's good to see you."
"And you," said Jack.
The abbot was younger than his counterpart in Whitehaven, still fit and strong despite the whiteness of his hair. He wore his sword on his hip and guns in his holsters and looked extremely comfortable wearing them. "I see you are preparing to fight, despite your wounds."
"Tonight's not the night for staying in bed," said Robert. "I told Silas that earlier. Don't try and stop us."
"I would do no such thing. I too will fight tonight. However, it would appear our fight is here in God's house and not elsewhere," said the abbot.
"What do you mean?" said Jack.
"We have a treasure in our crypt — the sword of Orsmond."
Jack nodded. "I've seen it. Brother Nial showed me."
"We've heard from the palace that the Nostros is coming to reclaim it for his king," said the abbot. "Therefore we must prepare the monastery's defenses. I would like you both to stay with me here. Not many have first-hand experience of our enemy and I fear the sight of a Nostros may well be too much for some."
"He's coming here?" said Jack.
"Apparently, he has two targets tonight. He seeks the sword and the death of the slave you rescued — the girl, Lin."
Jack started forward. "Lin?" He looked at Robert.
"I told you the girl knows how to make an enemy," said the big man.
"Aye, she does," said Jack. He had an urge to go to her, to protect her from what was coming, but he knew his place was with his brothers first. He turned to the abbot. "Where do you want us?"
"We don't have many men here now. Fifty at most, plus a few injured like yourselves. We're going to lock the main gates up and then put most of our force up on the walls to stop the Nostros from entering. If one of you could be with them, I'd be grateful."
"I'll do that," said Jack.
"The rest of the brothers — about ten — will remain here in the courtyard. We'll act as backup to any areas that get in trouble," said the abbot.
"I'll join you," said Robert.
"If we get overrun," said the abbot, "we'll retreat back to the Great Hall. I'm having barrels of gunpowder stacked up in there in case all is lost. I'd rather blow all of us to smithereens than let a Nostros have that sword."
"Let's pray it doesn't come to that," said Robert.
Jack raised an eyebrow but said nothing. So far nothing had gone to plan and once more they were on the defensive. At least, no matter what happened, it would all end that night.
The Black Dogs busied themselves preparing the monastery for an attack. The main gates were shut and barred. Men took positions along the battlements. The armory's supplies of rifles and muskets were distributed amongst the men so each had several to use. As fast as the Dogs were at reloading, if the Nostros and the Turned attacked, it would be quicker to reach for another loaded rifle.
Jack climbed up to the battlements and took up a position overlooking the main entrance to the monastery.
He nodded at the priest already stationed there. A bandage covered the man's left eye and half his head. "I'm Jack," he said, holding out his hand.
"I'm Mark." He was a northerner, judging by his accent
"Were you at the bridge last night?" asked Jack.
"Aye, I was — until one of the bastard Turned took my eye out. It was a grim business, that's for sure. What about you?"
"I was trapped in Brixteth. I got out after sunrise this morning."
"A hard night." Mark turned and looked out over the city. Grayston was quiet and dark while Brixteth was all flame and fury. "Not looking forward to tonight much, either."
"Only a fool would be," said Jack.
"You can say that again."
Torches were lit all around the monastery as the last glimmer of sunlight faded in the sky. Anticipation niggled away in Jack's gut as he watched the empty streets. The palace was only three roads away, windows shining in the smoke-filled gloom. He wondered what Lin was doing, where about she was. Someone would've told her of the threat to her life but he knew she wouldn't be hiding. Lin was more a warrior than anyone he knew.
"Knights of Saint Stephen," called the abbot from his position next to the cauldron, drawing Jack's attention. "Listen to my words." His voice sang out, clear and confident.
"Tonight is the reason we took our vows. Tonight is the reason we've trained so hard. Tonight is why we are the Black Dogs." He turned as he spoke so he could take in all the men no matter where they stood. "The best of the best.
"The Nostros is coming with an army of the damned at his heels. But he will not find scared men waiting for him here. He will find men of God, strong of heart, fighting for our homes, for our brothers, and yes, for our very lives.
"We may not all survive this night, but one thing I can promise you is that he will find death waiting for him here. Death for him and all his kind."
"Death to the Nostros!" shouted Jack. "Death to the Nostros!"
The cry was taken up by the others, spreading out around the battlements until every man joined in. "Death to the Nostros! Death to the Nostros!"
The abbot held up his hand and the monastery fell silent once more. "I would ask you to join me in prayer one last time together."
Jack bowed his head. His hand went to the circle of God he wore around his neck.
"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." Fifty voices echoed out across the monastery as one. Jack could feel the power of the prayer vibrate through him and connect him with his brothers in arms. He remembered the first time he'd said those words as a tired and scared child in Whitehaven and how they'd moved him even then.
"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." He remembered another night in the Middle Kingdoms, waiting for the dawn and a boat to rescue Brendan, Lin and himself from the Nostros. The night Brendan was taken and Jack had nearly died.
"For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen." Jack looked up and caught the abbot's eye. The man smiled and drew his sword.
"Death to the Nostros!" shouted the abbot and thrust his sword into the air.
The Black Dogs cheered. "Death to the Nostros!"
Then Jack heard the first explosion, quickly followed by several others, saw the bursts of flame and the crashing of tumbling metal and stone. The cheers stopped. "They've blown the bridges," he said to Mark. "It's begun."
They always said the waiting was the hardest for a soldier, when you knew the enemy was coming but had still to arrive. Each second lasted an hour, each minute was the length of the day. Jack and the Black Dogs stood in the cold wind and listened to a war being fought elsewhere. Even with the fires burning, he could see flashes of gunfire by the river as men battled with demons. Losing the bridges hadn't stopped the Turned. Only bullets and steel would do that.
He thought of the thousands of dispossessed living in tents in the parks, the thousands in the homes of Grayston, both rich and poor. They'd all be food for the Turned if the night was lost, and then the country would fall. Jack ran his hands over his weapons for the hundredth time, making sure ever
ything was in place, then double-checked the rifles he'd been given. Up and down the wall, others were doing the same, needing to find something to busy themselves with, wanting anything to take their minds off the waiting. A few were curled up under cloaks, snatching a few minutes' sleep. Jack envied them the ability to do so. Even if he was in a comfortable bed, he'd never be able to sleep. Not when the enemy were on their way. Not when the fighting was close.
Stewards came up with hot mugs of tea for everyone, casting nervous glances out into the night as they did so. Jack took his gratefully and wrapped both hands around it, enjoying the warmth. "I need this."
"Tea's what keeps us on our feet," said Mark. "As long as there's a brew, we'll keep fighting."
They sipped the tea and listened to the gunfire. It wasn't as heavy as the previous night, but it was constant. No one was getting much rest on the front line.
"I always thought I'd die in the Middle Kingdoms somewhere," said Mark. "Not on my own doorstep."
Images of Brendan's broken body played through Jack's mind. "It doesn't matter where you die — only that you give your life for the right reasons."
Mark chuckled. "I'd rather not die at all if I'm being honest."
"Only a fool would want to," said Jack.
Bells rang out from the palace, sounding the alarm. Gunshots followed. It was rapid fire, mixed with the sound of breaking glass and cries of pain. The Nostros and the Turned were at the palace. Shit. He'd gone for Lin first, blast their luck.
"What's going on?" called the abbot.
"Gunfire at the palace," said Jack.
The abbot clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "All right, lads. The palace is under attack. That means we're next. Get ready. Keep your eyes open and God in your heart."
"Shouldn't we send some Dogs to help them?" said Mark. "Maybe we could stop them there."
"We have our orders," said Jack. "They're on their own." The words cut him deep as he said them — by God, he wanted to run over there and make sure Lin was safe — but he had his duty. So they stood and listened to the gunfire and the screams and the shouts, and waited.
"Hold on," said Mark. "What's that?" He pointed to the far end of the street.
Jack peered into the gloom. "Horses." He counted fifteen of them, riding fast. "Beware!" he called out. "We've got company."
Men scrambled around them. Rifles were thrust in shoulders and aimed. Jack's heart pounded away. A million thoughts flashed through his mind. This was it. Battle once more. Who would die this time? Was Lin safe? Would he see her again? Would any of them see the dawn?
He took aim at the rider of the lead horse as it hurtled toward them. The man was dressed in black. A sword hung on his side. A hat covered his face from view. A black cloak trailed behind him. He was a—
"Black Dogs!" shouted Mark. "They're ours! Don't shoot!"
The words rippled down the line and rifles were lowered with sighs of relief. All except Jack's. He had the feeling in his gut again. Battle nerves, most likely. He knew he was tired. Still hurting and on edge. Even so, something wasn't right.
As the horses got nearer, he could see Mark was right — they were all Knights of Saint Stephen and all of them looked hurt. Some looked dead.
"Open the gates!" shouted the lead rider. "I've got injured men here. We need to get to the infirmary or they'll not last much longer!"
Mark took up the cry. "Open the gates! We've got injured brothers."
"Wait," said Jack. "Something's not right ..."
"What do you mean? You heard him — if we don't get them in, they'll die."
"I don't know. It's just a feeling ... " Jack could hear the bar being removed from the gates but he didn't dare look. He kept his aim on the lead rider. If only he could see his face ... He recognized something about him, but what was it?
He ran his eyes over the others. Now they were closer, Jack could see the blood on their skin, the rips in their uniforms. They'd obviously been through hell. As battered as they were, he couldn't see that they posed any danger. The man was right. They certainly looked like they were at death's door.
He could hear the gates being cranked open, the loud groan as the hinges moved. He wanted to lower his rifle but the feeling stopped him.
"Come on!" someone shouted from below. "Get inside, quick."
The horses moved forward. The lead rider looked up. Only the bottom part of his face showed from under the hat, but Jack saw a smile flicker across his lips, saw white-blond hair fall across his collar, saw the blood at the top of the man's dog collar. "No."
Jack pulled the trigger. The gun boomed and kicked back into his shoulder. Gun smoke obscured the rider for a second, but Jack had already dropped his rifle and snatched up another. "They're Turned," he shouted at the top of his voice. "Turned!" He ran for the stairs. "Turned!"
Everyone around him moved in slow motion, not believing what he said or just too stunned to react. There was a cry from the gate and the rumble of hooves.
"Turned!" Jack shouted. He ran down the steps as the riders burst through into the courtyard. All signs of injury or weakness were gone. Their swords were drawn and already bloodied. The lead rider was still alive — Jack's shot had missed him somehow — but his hat was gone and there was no mistaking Alexis' face. The Black Dogs Jack and Robert had gone down into the tunnels to find were back. Back, and Turned.
The brothers in the courtyard were reacting now it was almost too late. The Turned rode amongst them, hacking down, killing quickly. Guns fired but no bullet seemed to hit a target. Fifty men against fifteen Turned? It was over but for the dying.
32
Lin
Lin jumped at the sound of the alarm bells. "They're here."
The chancellor glanced at the night sky. "They got here quicker than I expected." He went to his desk and poured himself a large glass of red wine.
"Now's not the time to have a bloody drink," she said as she ran over to the window to see what was happening.
"I think it's exactly the time," replied Willingham. He gulped at the wine, desperate to drink it.
Lin didn't blame the man for being scared, but he'd need more than a glass of wine to get through the night because what she saw outside made even her blood run cold.
The Master's Children were at the iron fence that ran along the perimeter of the palace. It was eight feet high with metal spikes at the top, but it might as well have not been there. They swarmed over it without slowing and ran toward the palace. She tried counting their number and failed. There was maybe a hundred of them, maybe more. All for her, if Westland was telling the truth. Then a thought struck her. "Is the queen here?"
"No. She went north a week ago."
"Good. At least she can live."
Gunshots flared from the palace but it was like spitting into the wind. She couldn't even tell if any of the shots hit their targets.
She turned to Willingham, who was still by his desk, drinking wine as if the world wasn't about to end. "Where are your weapons? Your guns?"
Willingham took another gulp from his wine glass. "I have none here. Only the guards are armed."
"Then we have to get away — run before it's too late."
Willingham drained the glass and then wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. "Let's go."
The gunfire stopped outside and for a second everything was quiet. Then, as they reached the door to Willingham's chambers, they heard the sound of a thousand panes of glass smashing. "They're inside."
"Follow me," said the chancellor. "We'll take the servants' stairs to the ground floor."
They ran down the corridor. Screams echoed around the building, coming from every corner. There were short bursts of gunfire as the Turned reached another pocket of resistance, but each time the guns were quickly silenced, replaced by screams. Lin hated running. She wanted to kill them all, but without a blade in her hand or a gun, all she'd succeed in doing was to get killed herself. She cursed herself for losing the sword. She cursed bein
g so powerless. If she lived, she swore she'd never be in this position again.
As they reached the servants' staircase, a dozen of the damned scampered out into the corridor from the main stairs. Their red eyes fixed on Lin and Willingham immediately.
"Run!" screamed Lin, but Willingham turned to face them. The man had gone mad. She grabbed his sleeve, tried to pull him toward the staircase, but he shrugged her off. "Willingham!" He ignored her as the Master's Children scampered toward them. What was he doing? She hesitated, not wanting to leave him, but the man had a death wish and she wasn't going to die with him.
She left him, jumping down the stairs two at a time. She'd reached halfway to the next landing when there was an explosion from above — a burst of light that sent her flying. She bounced off the wall and fell down another three steps before she managed to get back on her feet again. She looked up as Willingham started down the stairs, unhurt, his hands smoking.
"What happened?" she asked.
"I killed them." He grabbed her hand with no other explanation and dragged her on. "Come on."
"What was that? Why didn't you tell me you had grenades?"
"That was no grenade."
They reached the ground floor before Lin could ask any more questions and Willingham put out a hand to stop her. The Master's Children were everywhere, feasting on fallen guards and staff. Blood and guts stained the walls and floor.
Lin started to retreat the way they'd come, but Willingham fixed his eyes on her. "Wait." He took a deep breath and opened up his hands. "Sollyis."
Small balls of light grew above the palms of each hand, so bright Lin had to turn her eyes away. Willingham stepped out into the corridor as they increased in size and heat. It was if he held a miniature sun in each hand.
The Master's Children saw him. Lin couldn't tell if they screeched in delight or fear. It didn't matter. Willingham hurled one sun to his left, the other to his right. Both exploded with a blinding flash of fire and fury. The Children who weren't incinerated immediately died seconds later as the lingering light caused them to burst apart as if the corridor was bathed in actual sunlight.