The Du Lac Devil: Book 2 of The Du Lac Chronicles

by Mary Yarde

  Alden ignored the threat. “Merton, you have to reach Philippe, you have to kill him, it is the only way,” he spoke in Cerniw, knowing no one else apart from Budic would understand what he was saying.”

  “He can’t bloody kill him,” Budic shouted, joining in the conversation in the same language. “Merton, use that bloody sword and kill yourself. Do not let him have the satisfaction of killing you.”

  “You are not helping,” Alden said, glaring at Budic.

  “And you are?” Budic yelled back. “He is destined for Hell anyway, so what does it matter if he kills himself? And Alden, get this through your thick skull, none of us are going to walk out of this courtyard alive. The sooner you accept that and face your fate like a man, then the better for all of us.”

  “Silence them,” Philippe commanded.

  The knife was pressed deeper into Alden’s throat, and blood began to trickle down his neck.

  “Do not think that I won’t,” the soldier warned Alden. “I care not for who you are.”

  “Do not think that I will forget your face,” Alden returned. “If you kill me, then I will find you, and I will haunt you to the grave and beyond for all eternity.”

  The soldier looked a little startled by Alden’s words, and he drew his knife away. “Just be quiet and don’t give me cause to hurt you then.”

  “I don’t want to fight you,” Merton said, his attention had not strayed from Bastian, although he had listened to everything Alden had said. “I just want to get to her and get to them,” he indicated his brothers with a tilt of his head.

  “Even if you did, you would still be dead. Better by my sword now, than what he has planned for you later,” Bastian advanced again. “It is what your father would have wanted.”

  “For you to kill me?” Merton questioned as he deflected Bastian’s first attack and took a step back. “I can not recall him saying that.”

  Bastian thrust forward again, but Merton continued to back away. He didn’t want to fight Bastian.

  “Do you see? Do you see?” Philippe spoke excitedly to no one in particular. “Merton is no match for my general. He is scared of him.” This brought a great cheer from those who watched.

  “Oh for the love of…” Bastian turned and looked at his King. He knew deep down that Merton would never stab him in the back, despite the fact that he had stabbed him in his. So he did not fear for his life. “I was Merton’s sword-master. Did your father never teach you the sacred Code Of The Knights?” Bastian’s voice was condescending, and it was no way to speak to his new King, but by God, he had had enough of Philippe’s rule all ready. “Never do you turn your blade in anger towards your sword-master. To do so would mean being expelled from the order.”

  “THERE IS NO ORDER. NOT ANYMORE,” Philippe shouted, the veins in his neck looked as if they would explode, so great was his anger. “The Order fell when Arthur died. If he doesn’t want to fight you, Bastian, then that is his call, but you will kill him. And if you ever talk to me in such a way again, your head will become acquainted with a basket.”

  Bastian sighed as he turned back around to look at Merton. “My King has spoken. I have to choose between your life and mine. I choose mine.” Bastian then threw himself into an attack, and this time, Merton had no choice but to fight back.

  Those who watched fell silent, there was no cheering, just a strange sadistic fascination as these two great warriors fought each other. Merton was the faster of the two men; he did, after all, have youth on his side. He parried every blow Bastian dealt him, and then paid him back. He opened a wound on Bastian’s leg and another to his left arm. But he was tiring, and the blood from his head wound was pouring down his face. Their swords locked and Merton closed the distance between them.

  “Swear to me you will get Alden and Amandine out of here,” Merton hissed between his teeth.

  “I will do my best,” Bastian returned. “Believe me, I never wanted this.”

  Merton smacked Bastian in the face with his elbow, and the general staggered back a few steps and swiped at the blood from the cut just above his eyebrow. And then he returned to the fray.

  It was the hardest fight Bastian had ever been in. Usually, during a fight, his mind was blessedly blank of anything but the moment. His attention never wavered, but this fight was different. He found himself remembering Merton as a little boy. He remembered the cheeky smile and the eyes that showed a quick wit and sharp intelligence. Bastian missed a step, and Merton’s blade scratched the skin across his ribs.

  Merton did not immediately go in for the kill; instead, the two men began to circle each other. Bastian watched, almost fascinated, as the devil smiled and he knew that this would be the last few breath’s he would ever take. But Merton then did the one thing Bastian had always told his soldiers not to do. He dropped his weapon on purpose and then ploughed into Bastian with the full force of his body. Bastian fell to the ground, his sword slipping from his hand. Within seconds Bastian’s sword was in Merton’s hands. Merton pointed the blade at Bastian’s throat.

  It was the greatest shame, Bastian had often told Merton in his youth, to be disarmed and killed by your own sword. It seemed Merton had not forgotten his lessons. Bastian closed his eyes and waited for the final blow.

  “You said if I won, I could leave,” Merton panted the words as he tried to catch his breath. He did not look at Philippe, but instead kept his eyes fixed on Bastian’s face. “I have just disarmed the greatest swordsman in your army.”

  “Disarmed is not dead,” Philippe replied.

  Bastian opened his eyes and stared up at the son of Lancelot du Lac, and he felt shame. Shame at his defeat, but more so, shame at his betrayal. Death by his own blade was more than he deserved.

  “If that is what you want...” Merton raised his sword as if to strike the fatal blow.

  “Stop,” Philippe ordered, for there was no man as experienced as Bastian to lead his army. He could not afford to lose him.

  Merton’s blade sliced the air but instead of connecting with Bastian’s heart it scratched his arm. Bastian hissed a breath between his teeth and clenched his jaw.

  “I am not one to go back on a deal,” Philippe finally relented.

  With a sigh of relief, Merton took a step back away from Bastian, and the general wearily sat up, before climbing slowly back to his feet.

  “You could have killed him. Why didn’t you?” Philippe asked.

  “Old times sake,” Merton replied. “My father respected him…once.”

  Bastian flinched at the words.

  “I never took you to be the sentimental type,” Philippe said.

  “I never took you to be a…” Merton’s voice trailed off, insults were not going to help the situation. “I have done what you asked, now let us go.”

  “I will,” Philippe answered. “There is just one tiny, insignificant thing I need you to do for me before I let you and the King of Cerniw go. I need you to play the part of an executioner. There is one who must die, and it seems fitting for you to be the one to take my prisoner’s life.”

  Merton’s eyes strayed to Budic’s.

  Budic raised his head and looked at him. “My head stays on my shoulders. Aim for my heart,” he ordered in Cerniw.

  “I’m sorry,” Merton returned. “If there was any other way.”

  “Spare me the sentiments. We both know you don’t mean them,” Budic returned with a trace of bitterness.

  “You thought I was talking about Budic,” Philippe interrupted, an evil excitable gleam in his eye as he guessed what they spoke of.

  “Then who?” Alden asked.

  “I want you to kill her,” he said looking at Amandine, who was still sat, cowering on the floor. Some of the crowd gasped in collective disgust, but no one dared to leap to her defence.

  39

  Amandine slowly, painfully, rose to her feet. Her knees were bleeding, as were her palms, where she had scraped them when she had fallen to the pitched earth. Her face, which was al
ready bruised from Jenison’s touch, was now swelling, where Philippe had hit her. She raised her head and looked at Merton.

  “What reason do you have to kill her?” Merton asked, his eyes fixed on Amandine’s face. He had promised to protect her, but instead he had delivered her to hell. Her life was to be forfeited because of him.

  “I am a king, do I need a reason?”

  “To kill an innocent. Yes.”

  “She isn’t an innocent. She is your whore, and she is a du Lac.”

  “You are also a du Lac, in all but name,” Merton reminded him, his gaze catching Philippe’s and the words hung between them for a moment. “A great king show’s mercy.”

  “Who are you to lecture me about mercy?” Philippe demanded to know. “Kill her and I will let you and Alden go free.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Philippe said conversationally. “They say you are cursed by a demon, and I think we have seen by your actions today that this is indeed true. I know now that I was wrong to offer you a warrior’s death. I want to save your soul, Merton.” Philippe continued with fake compassion. “The only way to do that is to beat and burn the demon out of you. But of course, I am willing to save on the wood and let you go free if you just make the sacrifice of this one, insignificant bitch and then fall to your knees in front of me and beg for my mercy.”

  “Do it. Do as he says. Win your freedom,” Amandine encouraged, taking a step towards the man she loved.

  “At your expense? No. I will not,” Merton stated, shaking his head and taking a step back, keeping the distance between them.

  “Please, I can’t bear the thought of you dying on a pyre. Please, do it for me.” Amandine stepped closer to him again, her bloody, torn hand outstretched to him in a wordless plea.

  “Get back,” Merton warned, raising his sword in a bid to keep her away.

  “Merton, please. You brought me back into the light. You made me happy. I will die happy because of you.” She tried to blink away her tears. She wanted to be able to see him. “Please, do it for me. I am ready to die. And I can not think of anyone I would rather have take my life than you.” She walked unsteadily towards him until she felt the tip of his blade rest against her chest and she could look him in the eyes.

  She reached towards him, her hands outstretched, palms up. “I love you,” she said, and she saw the pain her words brought to him. His eyes had also taken on a watery sheen, and his sword was shaking in his hands.

  Merton shook his head. The mercenary side of him urged him to do it. To make the sacrifice. He was after all his brother’s keeper, and it was his duty to keep Alden safe. But he loved her, and that changed everything.

  “I would rather burn in hell for eternity than take your life.” He dropped the sword to the ground, the metal clanging as it fell to the earth.

  “Merton, you have to do this,” Amandine begged, grabbing hold of his arm. “I am begging you to.”

  He tugged her into his embrace, keeping his eyes riveted on Philippe’s face as he did so. “No matter what happens,” Merton whispered in her ear, “never forget that I love you, and if there is life after this one, I will find you. I swear it.” He pulled himself away from her then.

  “You win,” Merton said to Philippe simply. “You win.” He held his hands out to his side, in complete surrender. It was over. He had gambled and lost. It turned out that Philippe was the better player after all.

  Immediately, heavily armed men surrounded Merton. The bastards kicked out his legs, and he fell heavily to the floor and then they laid into him with their fists and feet until the pain was all he knew and his grip on reality began to fade.

  “Bastian,” Philippe called his general over to him. When Bastian reached his side, Philippe said: “You know what to do.”

  “There is no honour in this. He is your cousin,” Bastian censured.

  “You dare to defend him?” Philippe asked, his eyes blazing with fury. “I have given you an order. If you refuse to carry out my command then I swear, you will join him.”

  “Get me a mallet,” Bastian yelled, his eyes not leaving Philippe’s.

  Philippe’s anger abated. “Good choice,” he said, patting Bastian lightly on the shoulder. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood, and he ordered someone to get him a cloth.

  The mallet was brought forth and handed to Bastian.

  “And what do you intend to do with that?” Alden asked, fearing the answer.

  “As I said, I will not let Merton die a demon,” Philippe spoke as if he had the authority of the Church, but there was a visibly lacking presence of any Holy Men, for they had all sought sanctuary in their church, all bar one, who was watching the events unfold with horror.

  Sampson comforted himself with the knowledge that his dear Lord, Jesus Christ, our saviour, had been tortured for crimes that he had not committed and crucified because the people were to scared to speak up. Sampson felt like a disciple, witnessing that bitter day a fresh. He felt their agony, for now, he recognised it as his own. Merton wasn’t meant to die. Sampson had been so sure that God had delivered the warrior to him for a purpose. He just wished he knew what that purpose was.

  “He is to be cleansed,” Philippe continued. “We will beat and burn the demon out of him and then maybe God will forgive him for his sins.”

  “NO,” Alden tried to lash out with his bound hands, but the soldiers tightened their grip on him and bashed him violently back against the wall. He hit his head hard, and lost consciousness, slumping to the ground.

  “Alden,” Merton muttered his brother’s name as he forced his eyes to open. He tried to rise, but was kicked back down again and pinned to the floor, by hands that were unyielding and unforgiving.

  “Please,” Amandine begged. She fell to Philippe’s feet, not caring anymore about her dignity, or whether Philippe would order her death again. All she cared about was saving the man she loved. “Please, your Majesty. He has fought every man you asked him to. He did everything you said. Please, good King, show mercy,” she begged.

  Philippe looked down at her in annoyance. “My dear, Merton isn’t like normal men. He is possessed by a demon. You should be thanking me. I am saving his immortal soul.”

  “But you are condemning your own in the process,” Amandine dared, and Philippe kicked out at her like one would do to a vicious dog. Amandine cried out in agony. The breath knocked from her.

  “Leave her alone,” Merton yelled when he heard her scream. He struggled against his captives, but all that did was give them an excuse to lay their boots into him again.

  “I want to say goodbye,” Amandine gasped for breath as she looked up at Philippe, tears streaming down her face to mingle with the blood. “I beg you…please…let me say goodbye.”

  Philippe looked down at her. “You will be free of his demonic influence soon and then you will be glad for my orders this day.”

  “Please…please…”

  Philippe nodded his head in consent, for he could not see the harm in it, although there were many watching who were surprised by his actions.

  Amandine did not pause to thank the King. She climbed to her feet, holding her stomach as she did so against the pain from Philippe’s well-placed kick. She ran the short distance that separated her and Merton, and fell to her knees next to him, wincing slightly as she did so.

  “Let me see him. Let me see him,” she wheezed the plea, still having difficulty drawing in a breath. Unfortunately, none of the soldiers would accommodate her. So instead she reached for his hand. His arm was pinned to the floor, but she manipulated her hand until her fingers fitted with his.

  Merton knew he was going to die, and he gripped her hand back desperately.

  “I love you,” she said, not caring who was listening or what they would think of her.

  “Forgive me,” he replied as he squeezed her fingers with his own.

  “There is nothing to forgive. I love you. I love you so much.”
She leant down and placed her cheek on the back of his hand. He felt the wetness of her face and the pain he felt knowing that he had failed her was so much greater than anything Philippe could ever order to be inflicted upon his body.

  “I love you too. Now go,” he said. But she wouldn’t let go of his hand, even though he had relaxed his fingers. He tried to pull his hand away from hers, but the way the soldiers were holding him meant he could not.

  “Get her out of here. Please, I don’t want her to see this,” he begged, his voice desperate. In answer, a soldier stepped forward and placed his heavy boot against Merton’s throat. Merton could barely manage to draw in a breath. The soldier then spat in his face, and he realised that there was to be no mercy. Philippe wanted them all to suffer this day.

  Bastian stepped forward and grabbed hold of Amandine’s arm, tugging hard, trying to make her stand. She held on to Merton’s hand until the last, crying out in pain and desperation as her hand was wrenched away from his. She screamed his name, and he began to struggle again. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear to hear her cry. If they hurt her, he would…but, there was nothing he could do. Nothing. There was no use fighting his fate anymore. It was over.

  “Be quiet, my Lady, you do Merton dishonour by making such a fuss,” Bastian whispered fiercely in Amandine’s ear, but she could not seem to stop herself. She had become hysterical, screaming Merton’s name over and over again.

  “Lord Bretagne, take your whore and shut her up,” Philippe ordered sharply. “Or I will order my men to slit her throat.”

  Bretagne walked timidly forward. He had never been so afraid in all his life, and he had already lost control of his bladder. He took hold of his wife and tried to lead her away, but she dug in her bare feet, refusing to go.

  “Go Amandine, I don’t want you here,” Merton shouted. He could no longer see her, but he could hear her, and he knew Philippe would think it nothing to kill her if she did not do as she was told. “Amandine I am begging you, go with your husband,” he shouted again and this time he could not stop the tears in his eyes.