“He's dead,” he announced, tersely confirming what they already knew. The brothers stared in stunned silence as they absorbed the information. They had always known that the life they led was fraught with danger and that any of them could be killed at any time. But somehow it had never happened to them. The Dawnings were always spared, whatever the circumstances, and it began to look like divine providence had taken an interest in them. Richard had survived a terrible battle, incarceration, and torture. Henry had lived while every last man with him was killed. They had all survived dozens of battles in the Crusades and in local struggles. But John was dead on their own land from a fight they did not understand. Perhaps they were on their own after all. Maybe they had no divine protection at the end of the day.
Henry sprang to his feet with Richard close behind. This brief pause had allowed William to catch up to them. He did not even need to ask. The expressions and the unnaturally motionless way his brothers were kneeling told him everything. They were not in a flurry of activity, attempting to save John, because there was no activity that could help him.
Ibrahim stepped into the opening of the stable door that was now strewn all over the yard to gauge the progress of the fight. It took but a moment to register the scene before him, of the Dawnings kneeling around the body of their fallen brother. He immediately dodged out of sight, but it was too late.
“You?” William muttered, taking a moment for his mind to place the face.
Henry, Richard, and William were instantly on their feet in pursuit. Thomas, who was a bit slower, was bringing up the rear.
Ibrahim raced through the stable, calling a warning to the others who were checking each stall for Anisa. Amir had indicated that she had collapsed in here somewhere, but the stable was huge, and now it was too late. They had to escape.
The Dawnings burst pell-mell into the dimly lit building, weapons drawn and thirsty for more Saracen blood to make restitution for the Dawning blood that had been spilt. But they were greeted only with the retreating backs of a small group of Moors racing for the opposite exit.
The brothers charged after them. They caught the slowest of the men just outside the opposite door of the stable. His escape had been hindered by the others vying to be the first through the doorway . Henry reached his retreating back first and ran his sword into it without even breaking stride. The Moor gasped and collapsed, and the brothers continued after the remaining five men without even slowing down.
It took Ibrahim and the others perhaps a hundred yards to realize they had the advantage unless they continued to flee. If they ran, they would be cut down one by one. But if they turned on them, everything changed. It was Ibrahim and four fully equipped soldiers against three exhausted, unprotected men wielding weapons that were not their own. Now was the time to confront them.
William and Richard were running side by side with Henry a pace ahead: William on his right flank and Richard on his left. Richard glanced over at William and was surprised at the crazed look in his eyes. It was clear that William was not in full control of his faculties at that moment, but his attention was diverted when Henry did the last thing any of them expected.
Henry charged into the center of the group of Moors, swinging wildly. Ibrahim was in the center and the target of Henry’s attack. Ibrahim immediately fell back under the fierce onslaught, leaving Richard and William to try to protect Henry from the soldiers on either side of him that quickly tried to take advantage of the situation and get at him from the flanks.
This created the urgent need for them to circumvent the two men standing between them and the two Moors that were about to run Henry through. Both men met this challenge in different ways. William charged the first man with a wide swing at his head. The Moor ducked it and cut at William’s waist with his blade. William leapt up and pulled both legs up and out of the way as he rotated horizontally over the deadly blade of the opponent. He landed facing the first man, with his back to the second. The first Moor’s swing had spun him around, and just for an instant both Moor backs were exposed. That was all it took.
Richard took a more direct approach. He stepped within striking distance of his opponent and let the inevitable swing come. He caught the assassin’s sword with his own weapon in his right hand and seized the Moor’s wrist with his left. Sliding his right forearm under the Moor’s leg, he picked him up and heaved him toward the back of the Moor about to cut into Henry’s flank. The two collapsed in a heap.
Ibrahim’s weapon flashed as he defended himself against the heated assault. He knew that Henry was not calculating his attacks, relying on passion to overcome, and that if he could just defend long enough, Henry’s uncalculating passion would inevitably lead to an error in his attacks. And that is all Ibrahim would need. But the assault kept coming. He noticed his two soldiers on his left drop from what seemed an invisible hand. He then danced aside as the two on his right were hurled around like rag dolls by the oversized Dawning. They should have killed that one when they had the chance. Now they were being punished for allowing the infidel to live. As if to punctuate this thought, William descended on his two fallen comrades viciously and repeatedly, ramming his spear into unprotected body parts until they stopped twitching.
Henry’s incessant attacks did not let up. After several more steps, Ibrahim stumbled over a root in the ground and fell backward. He raised his sword feebly, knowing the end was near. The tall, slender Dawning stood over him and struck his sword from his hand. Henry straddled him and pulled him by the breastplate up slightly off the ground, his sword held to his throat. “Who are you?” he demanded. Ibrahim said nothing. Henry flicked his weapon, and a nick appeared in Ibrahim’s neck that immediately oozed blood. “Why are you after our family? You dare to come into my house during my wedding and kill my people?”
Fear filled Ibrahim’s eyes as he stared up at Henry’s enraged face. “Please, don’t hurt me.” He held his left hand in front of his face while his right hand stole slowly down to his boot, where he had a knife concealed.
“You murder my family in cold blood and demand mercy from me?” Henry slapped him in the side of the head with the flat of his blade. “Are you Nizari?” he yelled. “What do the Nizari want with us?”
Ibrahim’s fingers closed around the hilt of his dagger. He slowly drew it out, all the time holding Henry’s gaze with his own fearful expression. “No more,” he pleaded. “I will tell you anything you want to know.” He slowly extended the dagger to drive it into the ribs of this infidel.
“Henry!” William, who had just finished brutally dispatching the others, called. With a hop he crossed the short distance and planted a kick into Henry’s side—the opposite side of the one which Ibrahim was about to pierce. Henry was not braced for the surprise hit and was picked up and hurled several feet in the opposite direction. Ibrahim swung hard at him at that moment, but instead of embedding his blade deep in the side, he slashed Henry’s stomach as he was flying over the top of him. William caught Ibrahim’s knife-bearing wrist in both of his hands and dropped his knee onto Ibrahim’s elbow, snapping it in the wrong direction, giving vent to his own fury at seeing the face he had rescued from the highwaymen all those months before coming back to inflict so much damage on his friends and family. Ibrahim screamed, and William glared his pure rage into his face. “I saved your life!” he said between clenched teeth. “You are only here because I allowed it, and this is how you repay me.” But before Ibrahim could respond, William yanked his body by means of his broken arm.
Ibrahim screamed again. The pain was excruciating, and it was impossible to resist with his broken joint. William slid behind him like a snake, wrapping his legs over Ibrahim’s arms as his arms slid around the Moor’s throat and tightened.
“William, no!” Richard shouted from where he was tending to the flesh wound on Henry’s stomach. “We need him for information!”
William did not hear his brother’s protests. His face was twisted in anger, his teeth grinding, and every mus
cle in his neck taut. He twisted and squeezed until Ibrahim’s strangled cries had ceased and his body was still. William released his victim and kicked his limp form violently away from him.
It was all at once strikingly and uncommonly quiet. Richard’s weary shoulders slumped in defeat. That was their last link to find out what happened to their brother.
Richard seemed to mutter something, but no sound reached William’s ears. Tears were flowing freely down Henry’s cheeks, but William could not hear what he was saying. All he could hear was the pounding of the blood in his head. Everyone was dead. The attack was over, but it was not over. There was no giant body in the pile of dead. William ground his teeth in frustration and roared, “Where is he? He is not here!” He grabbed his spear and ran back to the stable.
He kicked the large door that had swung partially closed after their rapid exit, swinging it violently open and tearing it half way off of its hinges. “Where is that miserable coward?” he shouted into the air. “Where are you?”
“William, no! No, William!” It was Henry’s voice that finally broke through the pounding in his head. He and Richard dragged William back.
“It’s over! It’s over today!” Richard tried to soothe him as he and Henry each took an arm and pulled him away from the barn and his crazed pursuit.
“It’s not over!” he yelled. “He is still here. We have to find him before he tries again.” They wrestled him until they all collapsed.
“We’ll get him, William. We’ll get him.” Richard hugged his brother’s head to his chest as William slowly resigned himself to losing the giant yet again.
The three were exhausted and overwrought, trying to take it all in. They sat back to back in a circle as each thought his separate thoughts about the same moments, the bloodshed at the wedding party, the loss of their brother, the death of these remaining Moors—Nizari—the only ones who might have been able to provide answers to any of this. The chaos that had exploded their lives and changed them forever less than an hour before had just as suddenly subsided.
“You put up quite a fight,” Richard forced a laugh. “We could have used Thomas’ help.”
“Hey,” Henry suddenly perked up. “Where is Thomas?”
Just then, from the darkness in the stable, a silhouette emerged. The brothers were instantly on their feet again, ready for anything, but they were all surprised when the shape converged into the form of an exhausted, blood-covered Sebastian.
“Sebastian, are you all right?” Henry was concerned at the sight of all the blood on their aging house servant.
Sebastian looked down at the blood without emotion. “There are many that require attention, Sir Henry. But do not fret, this blood is not my own.”
“Yes, of course.” The immediate fight had completely pushed from Henry’s mind the carnage that awaited them on the other side of the stable.
“Milord,” Sebastian turned his attention to William, “Baron Braddock is at the gates with his army and says that if you do not accept his challenge to settle this blood feud here and now, he will destroy Dawning Court.”
The fear, the violence, David's death, John's murder, the repeated attempts to destroy his family, all converged at once. And deep within William’s mind, something snapped.
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
James Batchelor was born in San Jose, California, the ninth of ten children. He was raised between California, Utah, and Arizona.
He received a BA of History and a BA of Political Science from the University of Utah.
He has loved writing since his earliest years and always intended to be an author.
A bit of a nomad, he has lived all over Japan and the US, from coast to coast and many places in between. He currently resides with his wife, Elizabeth, and their five children in the Chicago area.
Table of Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AUTHOR'S NOTE
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
CHAPTER NINETY
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
CHAPTER NINETY-TWO
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR
CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE
CHAPTER NINETY-SIX
CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ONE
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWO
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THREE
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOUR
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
iv>
The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series) Page 54