CRY FEAR

by Mike Morris

  "Every monastery has a room like this," said the abbot for her benefit. They stopped in the center of the chamber and he turned, indicating the cabinets with a wave of his hand. "These are items we've collected over the centuries in our battles with the Nostros."

  Lin nodded, not sure what she should say.

  "I was most interested to hear that the Nostros were quite keen to reclaim your sword, Lin." The abbot tilted his head a fraction toward the weapon on her hip. Lin tightened her grip on its hilt protectively. "At first I thought it was due to some sentimental reason — the king wanting to reclaim his son's property. Then I heard what it did to the Nostros and its Turned, and I saw things in a different light. I realized they wanted it back because they feared what it could do."

  "With good reason," said Jack.

  "The other sword they wanted is in here," said the abbot. He stepped aside and Lin saw a display case with a broadsword inside. "The sword of Orsmond."

  Lin stepped closer, drawn to it. It seemed familiar somehow, like she should know it from elsewhere. It was quite beautiful. She peered at it through the glass and saw the dragon engraved on the blade. Of course. "It's the same as mine."

  "May I?" asked the abbot, holding out his hand.

  Line drew her sword and gave it to him. It was obvious now. The weapons were a pair, made by the same hand of the same material in the same design. They all looked at Orsmond's sword once more to confirm what they all knew.

  "They match," said Jack.

  "So?" said Lin, reaching for her sword again, afraid the abbot might try to keep it for himself. She'd not let that happen. She nearly sighed with relief when he returned it.

  "We have two weapons in our possession that greatly improve our ability to fight the enemy," said the abbot. "I've ordered that all our 'trophies' are examined and a full inventory taken of any other items we may have that could help us."

  "What then?" Lin slid her sword back into its sheath. She didn't let go of the grip once it was in place. The abbot noticed and smiled.

  "I want to create a special task force — an elite unit, as it were — armed with these weapons and send them into the most dangerous situations. I want them to strike at the Nostros with the utmost aggression. I want to do to the Nostros what they tried to do to us. I want them to taste fear."

  "I'm sorry," said Lin, "but I'm not giving up my sword."

  Again, the old man smiled. "I'm not asking you to. I want you to be a part of the team."

  "What?" Lin's mouth dropped open in surprise. It was an invitation she'd never have expected in a million years.

  "Unconventional, I know, but the situation we're in demands new approaches. What do you say?"

  "I say yes," said Lin. She grinned, enjoying the thrill rushing through her. "It's what I want more than anything."

  "What about me?" said Jack.

  The abbot opened the display case and motioned to the sword within. "I'd like to offer you your new sword. Of course, we’ll get the blade reworked to a more manageable size — you are not a Nostros after all.” The abbot paused for a moment. “And I'd like you to lead the team."

  Now it was Jack's turn to be taken by surprise. "Me? I ... I don't deserve it. There are others better than me ..."

  "Nonsense, dear boy, nonsense. You're a hero. Without you, the raid at Grosnar would've been a disaster. Without you, the Nostros would still be free."

  "I was lucky." He shook his head. "Lin saved me both times. If not for her, I'd be dead too."

  "That's why I want you both together," said the abbot. "You make each other lucky, and I'd rather have lucky soldiers than any other on my side. God has blessed you both, and I mean to take advantage of that. Besides, Nial said you were one of the most talented soldiers he'd ever fought with and a natural leader. And that man knew what he was talking about."

  Jack's chest swelled at the compliment. "I'll do my best for you."

  "That's all I ever ask," replied the abbot. "Now take your sword. We've a war to fight."

  Lin watched Jack reach in and tentatively take the sword from its cabinet. It was bigger and heavier than anything he'd fought with before, but it brought his smile back.

  He looked at Lin. There was color back in his face. Hope, too. "Let's go kill some monsters."

  "I thought you'd never ask," said Lin. She'd found her purpose in life.

  37

  Willingham

  Willingham marched through the palace, past the army of workers hard at work repairing the damage done by the Turned. Returning the palace to its original state was a priority. It was a symbol of Abios' resilience. No one could afford for it to look like it'd been given a bloody nose — or worse.

  Still, there was some satisfaction to seeing the damage he'd caused personally. To see the marks of how powerful his magic had become. Until that night, he'd never been able to use it without holding back. Now that he had, he was eager to unleash it again. He recognized the hunger for what it was, though, and knew the danger recklessness would place him in. He wouldn't be foolish now. Not when he was so close to everything he wanted.

  He skipped down the stairs into the depths of the castle, into the dark. The guard outside Westland's cell gave a smart salute when he saw Willingham approach. The chancellor tilted his head back and then waited while the guard opened the heavy door. "Go and get something to eat," he said once the door was open. "Take your time before you come back."

  The guard saluted once more and left.

  Willingham entered the cell. Westland sat on a cot in the corner, his bruises faded after a week's rest, the burns less raw. He stood gingerly and bowed. "Your Excellency."

  The cell's other occupant lounged in a chair by the cold fireplace. She was slower to get to her feet and did not bow. Instead, she came up to Willingham and kissed him with a hunger full of promise. "You took your time," said Sarahlas.

  "There's a lot to do," replied Willingham. "A lot to prepare."

  "The Master is dead?" asked Westland.

  "Yes."

  Sarahlas touched her neck. A scarf covered the bite marks left by the Nostros. He knew from his own experience that they would take a long time to heal. "A shame," she said.

  "We knew it was a likely outcome."

  Sarahlas nodded. A glass vial hung from a necklace around her neck. Willingham lifted it up so he could see it better. Red blood swished inside it.

  "Is this the Nostros' blood?" he asked. "Did it work?"

  "Yes. You'll not get attacked by any of the Master's Children as long as you have it," said Sarahlas. She reached into her tunic and produced another necklace, another vial. "This is for you."

  Willingham took it and held it up to the light. "Excellent." He wondered what it would taste like, what effect it would have on his magic. Questions for another day. He slipped it inside his robe.

  "Has the girl agreed to become your pupil?" asked Westland.

  "She has."

  "Then everything has worked out the way we planned." Westland leaned forward, hardly able to hide his excitement. It was hard to believe he and Sarahlas were related. He had none of his sister's strength. "Did you taste her blood?"

  "I did."

  "And?"

  "It was everything we hoped."

  Westland clapped his hands in glee. "Excellent. Excellent. And she has no idea we've pushed her onto this path?"

  "None whatsoever," said Willingham.

  "So we move on to the next stage?"

  Willingham glanced at Sarahlas. "That's the thing, my dear boy. Everyone knows you're a traitor. We can't have you walking the streets as if all is forgiven now, can we?"

  "But I was following your orders, executing your plan."

  "And you did it beautifully. You will be remembered one day as a true hero of the revolution," said Willingham.

  "One day?" Westland looked from the chancellor to his sister and back again. "How long will I have to be in exile for?"

  Willingham almost laughed at the confusion on the f
at fool's face. The man really had no idea. He'd not even seen his sister draw the knife. "There's no exile for you."

  "Goodbye, brother," said Sarahlas, and slashed his throat. She stepped back as he grasped his neck, as if that would stop the blood flowing from it. He tried to talk but only managed to spit blood all over himself. Willingham watched as the man sat down on the edge of his cot and then slipped to the floor as his life bled out.

  Sarahlas wiped the knife on a bedsheet and slipped it back into its sheath. She looked down at her brother and curled her lip in distaste. "I never liked him."

  "Not many people did," said Willingham. "That's what made him a perfect villain."

  "If only they knew," said Sarahlas, slipping her hand in his.

  Willingham lifted it up and kissed her hand. "Indeed."

  The end.

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  Afterword

  I hope you enjoyed the continuing adventures of Jack Frey. If you did, please leave a review on Amazon or on Goodreads. Reviews really help every author and make a massive difference to how well a book does.

  Visit my website www.mikemorrisauthor.com to find out more about Jack Frey and all my other books. If you sign up for my mailing list, you’ll be the first to hear all the latest news.

  Plus you can follow me on twitter or Facebook — look for @scifimikemorris.

  I’d like to dedicate this book to my wonderful wife, Tinnie, without whom I’d just be a man with an unfulfilled dream. I love you.