by Alan Scott
“All three, Archbishop, or none.”
“The Sorenson Sword is a symbol of authority. I...”
“My brother could and would destroy Deep Lake searching for those who hurt me,” interrupted Rebecca.
Peak raised his eyes and studied Rebecca’s face. “It will be difficult.”
“I am to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. Do not talk to me of difficulty, Archbishop.”
“You will talk to your brother, then?”
“Yes.”
“And convince him to take no revenge?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will guarantee that your conditions will be met.”
“Then we have nothing else to discuss, Archbishop. I am feeling tired and slightly emotional. Would you be so good as to depart this cell?”
Standing, Frances Peak gave a short bow of his head. “As my lady commands.”
Rebecca Rothgal watched silently as Peak left the cell. As soon as the cell door closed, she turned to Prue with tears beginning to flood her eyes. Prue rushed to Rebecca and flung her arms around her. “Oh, Becky,” Prue managed, her voice choked with emotion. “Oh, Becky.”
The pair stayed like that for almost thirty minutes before Rebecca gently pushed Prue away. “I must contact my brother now.”
“Surely he could save us! Surely he could kill this Midnight Man,” said Prue, hopefully.
“My brother, Jack - or as he is more commonly known, Dark Storm - is an emotionally broken man. He paid a heavy price during the last war. He needs time to heal and mend.”
“How long?” queried Prue.
Rebecca gave a small sad laugh. “Maybe a hundred years.”
“What!”
“He is Ver and they live a very long time.”
“I had heard rumours, but...”
“But nothing, Prue, as we are digressing. Please go to the far side of the cell.”
“As you say,” said Prue, warily, as she did as she was bid.
When Prue was against the far wall, Rebecca closed her eyes and called out with her mind, “Jack! Jack, can you hear me? I need you!”
Nothing happened.
Rebecca looked around, angrily. “Damn it, Jack! You said you would come if I called!”
From the shadows in the far corner of the cell, a man’s voice said, “You were always impatient, little sister. What are you doing in a cell?”
Rebecca turned round and nearly started crying again as she saw her brother walk towards her. He was hunched up, as if protecting himself from the world. His eyes were red, raw, and haunted. “Hello, Jack. We need to talk.”
Jack glanced round the cell, his eyes momentarily lingering on Prue. “Yes, we do, Rebecca. Yes, we do.”
***
Archbishop Frances Peak stepped into his carriage, took a seat, and stared out the window, thoughtfully.
“Did it go as planned?” asked Deacon Brown.
“There is some work to be done, but, yes, it went as well as I could have hoped.”
Deacon Brown studied Archbishop Peak for a moment before turning and opening a small hatch near his head. “Home, driver.” He closed the hatch and the carriage jolted forward as it began its journey. Brown made himself comfortable as he, too, looked out the carriage window whilst the silence deepened between the two men.
Chapter Two
The Lord Moves in Mysterious Ways
Dennis Dransfield slowly dismounted from his horse and wearily made his way through his small camp to sit on a large stone. “I have finished checking our former campsite and they are all dead. You don’t want to know what they have done to our friends,” he told Luke Black, who was currently hobbled to a tree with his hands tied behind his back. Over the last few days, Dennis had taken care of the wounds Luke had sustained at the massacre, but had been forced to bind Luke when he had attempted to kill him.
Running his fingers through his hair, Dennis sighed, heavily. “I guess that makes us the last two of Brother Warsmith’s Craktoneons.”
“No!” declared Luke. “I am the last of Brother Warsmith’s Craktoneons. You are a traitor and the spawn of a deviant!”
“What happened to us, Luke? We used to be the best of friends,” Dennis asked, sincerely.
“My eyes were opened to what you were!” Luke spat out.
“What?”
“My eyes were opened by Sergeant Guardian Braken. He always saw through your disguise, you glory-hunting deviant lover.”
Dennis rubbed his forehead. “Do you mean my grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you mean by glory-hunting?” sighed Dennis.
“You were always arriving a fraction late - these scars I have on my face and chest are proof of that - and by arriving late, you always were seen to be saving the day.”
“You were the fool! You always charged in early!” shouted Dennis, finally losing his temper. “How many good men have we lost because you could not wait for reinforcements, eh?”
“I never feared to fight the unclean, the deviant, or the werewolf, unlike you!” shouted Luke.
Dennis stood up and walked towards Luke. “If you had only listened to me all those years ago and stayed with the group, you would never have had those scars.”
“You just wanted to protect your grandfather! You just wanted to protect a werewolf.”
“I hate the unclean, the abomination, and the werewolf as much as you, and have you forgotten I was cleansed by Brother Warsmith himself? You were there when he placed the cross over my heart to protect me from evil.”
“The evil was already in your blood, traitor.”
Dennis raised his eyes to the heavens in despair. “Do all the years we spent fighting side by side mean nothing?”
“Sergeant Guardian Braken...”
“Fuck Sergeant Guardian Braken, Luke! He hated me from the start.”
“Exactly. He knew what you were.”
Dennis searched his ex-friend’s face, looking for something - anything - from the past that he could use to reconnect with Luke. All he could find was hate and loathing. Dennis turned around, went back to the large stone, and sat down.
Looking at the uninspiring ground, Dennis could feel Luke’s eyes burning into him and the hatred they contained. “I just don’t understand,” he quietly whispered to himself. In the space of a few days, his entire world had fallen apart. His friends were dead, his mentor was dead, his purpose in life was now gone, and his longest and best friend hated and loathed him, and had done, apparently for years. Dennis pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where am I going to go? What am I going to do with Luke?”
“You can set me free, traitor, and I will send you to hell so you can be with your friends!” called out Luke.
Dennis ignored Luke and massaged his forehead, trying to keep the threatening headache at bay.
“Coward!” shouted out Luke.
Closing his eyes, Dennis massaged harder as he tried to think of what to do.
“You shall fry in hell, traitor, along with your family - especially your grandmother!” Luke laughed.
At the mention of his grandmother, Dennis stood up. “You go too far, Luke.”
“Her screams will be a warning to all: ‘copulate with a werewolf and you shall burn forever.’”
Dennis rushed to Luke. “I said you go too far!”
Looking up, Luke simply said, “She will burn and she will suffer extra for your sins.”
“I said shut up!”
“She will burn!”
Unable to control the anger inside him, Dennis kicked Luke’s hip hard. “I said shut up!”
“She will scream, boy!”
Dennis kicked Luke in his chest. “Shut up, Luke!”
“Burn!” Luke spat out.
Dropping to his knees, Dennis smashed his fist repeatedly into Luke’s face.
Defenceless, Luke tried to roll with the blows, but Dennis grabbed his hair with his free hand and continued pounding his ex-friend. “I... Said... Shut..
. Up!”
After a few more hits, Dennis pushed himself away. Breathing heavily, he sat on his backside, looking at Luke’s bloody and swollen face. “Do you know what, Luke?” asked Dennis as he stood up, gulping down huge lungfuls of air.
“Whaaa...?” managed Luke.
“That felt fucking brilliant. I have done nothing to you, you ungrateful bastard. In fact, I’ve saved your worthless life numerous times, and all you can do...”
“...deviant...”
Dennis ran forward and kicked Luke in the head. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” Dennis battled down the raging fury inside him. “I am speaking! I tried to understand. I tried to work out what I had done wrong, but in the end, it was down to your simple jealousy and believing what an idiot said.” Dennis laughed, sadly. “You let the poisonous words of Aaron Braken run through your mind and turn friendship into jealousy.”
Luke moaned as fresh blood ran down his face.
“Well, do you know what? I no longer care. I know what I am going to do and where I’m going. The question remains, though - what do I do with you, my old friend?” Dennis stared cold-eyed at Luke.
Luke moaned again as he moved painfully. Dennis drew his dagger and slowly moved forward. Luke half-opened an eye and stared with hatred at Dennis. He smirked as he spied the dagger in Dennis's hand. “Coward,” he said through his battered lips.
Kneeling, Dennis grabbed Luke’s hair and pulled it backwards.
“Do it, traitor!” Luke said, defiantly.
“You are not worth it. I finally see you for what you are, Luke - a bully and a fool. No, I am not going to kill you.” With that, Dennis plunged the dagger into Luke’s outstretched leg.
Luke screamed.
Dennis gave the dagger a slight twist. “No, you shall live; however, I have no wish for you to follow me and slit my throat whilst I dream. I do believe I nursed you back to health from two knife wounds in the back.” Dennis removed the blade, let go of Luke’s hair, and pushed him onto his side. Next, he cut the rope that was tying his hands together, before swiftly plunging the dagger back into Luke’s leg. Standing quickly, Dennis backed off a few feet.
Luke had his hand on the handle of the dagger. “You werewolf-loving bastard!” he screamed as he attempted to pull the blade free.
“I healed two; I caused two. Let’s call it quits. You will be able to untie yourself from the tree, once you have worked the dagger free.” Dennis made his way to his horse.
Luke shrieked as he slowly pulled the knife free of his leg.
Dennis mounted the horse and looked sadly around the small camp. “I will leave you all this. You will need it to recover. Do not attempt to follow me or I will kill you.”
“I will track you down and destroy you, you stinking traitor, if it is the last thing I do!” pledged Luke Black.
“Then you are a fool.” With that, Dennis rode away.
***
Elsewhere on the continent of Talocants
Alex Weir stared thoughtfully at Reif Rothgal’s back as they rode silently in single file along the track that led to the city of Idris, via the Rolling Hills, which skirted the Granite Mountains. Alex sighed heavily and shook his head. The Reif Rothgal in front of him was not the Reif Rothgal he had known for almost twenty years. Gone was the humour; gone was the innocence; gone was the laughter. They had been replaced by an all-consuming inner fire, which had destroyed everything within Reif, except for his faith.
Reif had been a practising Craktoneon; however, he had not practised that hard or that diligently. Now, though, he read the Craktoneon Bible every night. “And the words fan your inner fire,” muttered Alex, sadly.
The two rode for another couple of hours before spying a small brook. “Time to rest and water the horses,” stated Reif as he dismounted and led his horse to the brook.
Alex stretched and looked round before dismounting and guiding his horse to the water. Standing next to Reif, he said, “Do you see them?”
“Yes - two to our right and another three behind.”
“They do not look that dangerous.”
“Let’s wait and see,” said Reif.
The pair allowed their horses to drink their fill before moving to some trees and attaching the horses’ reins to some low-lying branches. Reif made his way back to the brook and, kneeling down, dipped his cupped hand into the cool flowing water for a drink. “It tastes good,” he declared.
Alex moved beside him and quickly took a drink from the stream. “Yeah, tastes good,” he said before quickly standing.
Reif stood up slowly and turned to where the two men were hiding. “It tastes good because God made it so. God is great, for He gifted man sweet water and succulent meat to sate his thirst and hunger.” Reif made a show of stretching his fingers before placing a hand on his sword. “I fear nothing, for I have God on my side! Only those that have turned from the One True God should fear me!”
“Shite,” muttered Alex under his breath. He cast his gaze around whilst gripping the handle of his sword.
“Come forth and stop your attempts at hiding! I grow bored of it. Either fight, run away, or talk with me. Choose now before I choose for you!”
From around Reif and Alex, a total of seven people stood.
“Which one of you is the leader?” demanded Reif.
“I am!”
Reif turned to his left to see a rugged man carrying an axe and dressed in leather armour. “Well? Which is it?”
“Let’s try talking first.”
“An excellent idea. What is your name?”
“I am John Magee, and you?”
“I am Reif Rothgal.”
A murmur went round the seven men.
“It seems I am known by your men,” said Reif.
“Yes, you are known, Reif Rothgal. You are known as a soft playboy fool. Your family is known as one of those that has caused great hardship to the common man.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before my parents were murdered by werewolves and my estates burned down to the ground. I am a very different man now.”
“How so?” enquired John Magee as he and the other six men started to move forward.
“In my darkest despair, I found God and, via Him, I have found a purpose.”
“Oh, and what is that?” asked John as he and his men unslung their weapons.
Fanaticism shone from Reif’s eyes. “Kill the werewolf. Kill the deviant. Suffer not the ungodly to live. Purge this great land of the unclean.” Reif drew his sword. “Ask yourself this, John Magee – am I ready to meet my maker? Have I served Him well enough to enter His divine garden or shall I be cast into the pits of hell?”
John Magee hesitated as he looked into Reif’s eyes. There, burning within them, was pure faith - a faith unshakeable, a faith that would move mountains, a faith that promised hellfire and damnation to those who would oppose it. John fell to his knees and dropped his axe. “My Lord, I was blind! Show me the true path.”
Looking around, Reif Rothgal met each man’s eye, and as he did so, each one of them dropped to his knees and threw away their weapons - that is, all but one.
“What is the name of the man who rejects God?”
“Arthur Greeth.”
Reif turned his full attention to the man walking towards him. “Why do you reject His existence?”
“Oh, I know God exists. I prayed to Him as robbers raped and killed my wife and daughter.” Arthur swung his sword at Reif, who parried the blow. “I prayed to Him as they whipped me through our small village’s only street.” Another flurry of blows and parries.
Alex moved to aid Reif. “No! Stay out of this, Alex,” called out Reif as he parried more attacks.
“I called out to your God as two of them raped me.” Arthur’s attack became frenzied as tears ran down his face. “I prayed to your God that He would kill me and let me be with my family, but He did not even grant that. Instead, He allowed me to live and, as I curled in
to a small ball, I swore that I would never again...” Arthur stopped fighting as the tears rolled down his face. He dropped his weapon, opened his arms out wide, tilted his head back, and screamed to the heavens, “Lord, let me die and be with my family!”
Reif lowered his blade and moved to stand in front of Arthur. “Do you know why God refused your prayers?”
“No.”
“He has a greater plan for you. You have suffered, just as I have suffered. We have suffered so that others will not suffer. We have become instruments of His divine will.” Reif placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “He has chosen us to carry the burden.”
“Why?” Arthur asked.
“So that others will be spared,” replied Reif, “so that others will be spared our heavy burden.”
“Why me?”
“Only He knows.” Reif straightened and removed his hand from Arthur Greeth’s shoulder. “We are God’s instruments. Let His fire burn bright in your chest. Let His righteous rage fill you.” Reif’s eyes shone bright. “I have just had a divine thought! Arthur Greeth, your purpose in this world has been shown to me.”
“What is it?” asked Arthur as he fell to his knees. “What is my purpose in this life?”
“You are to be the Shield of the Lord. You are to be the defender of the weak and the defenceless.” Reif spun round and pointed at Alex Weir. “You are to be the Sword of our Lord, and take the fight to His enemies.”
“Now steady on...” began Alex, however, Reif had already turned back to look at Arthur. A look of shock appeared on Reif’s face and he stumbled backwards, only just keeping his feet. “Oh, Lord! Oh, my Lord,” Reif stuttered as he dropped his sword and swayed violently.