by Mark G Heath
“ Go downstairs and see what is going on,” he instructed Beatrice. She nodded and scurried away. He waited until she was out of sight and then approached the door to Kathryn’s bedroom. He tried the handle and to his surprise the door opened slightly.
“ Careless,” he murmured with a smile. He pushed the door open but remained on the threshold of her room. He waited a moment but nothing happened. He tentatively placed a hand into the room and then promptly withdrew it. With a deep breath he stepped into the room and still nothing unfortunate had befallen him. The bed was unmade and there were various bandages strewn around. The fire burned in the hearth as he made for the window. He looked out onto the square and saw a few villagers running across it in the direction of the road to the bridge.
“ Something certainly is happening,” said Lancaster to himself. He looked up to the road but saw nothing as two more villagers appeared in the square from the opposite side and ran through the snow, they too heading for the bridge.
“ Where is it?” said Lancaster as he turned his attention to the dressing table. Scores of bottles cluttered it, of all manner of shapes and sizes. Cylindrical ones, round ones with flat bottoms and long thin bottles. All corked and all containing a variety of coloured liquids. A myriad of scents rose from the assembly of fragrances as he hastily combed his way through them, but could not see what he sought. He began to pull the drawers from the dressing table and emptying them onto the bed, taking care not to be too vigorous. Each one revealed sachets and packets, which he cast aside. He flung open the doors of the wardrobe and pulled out the dresses, flinging them too onto the bed. Stooping he ran his hands across the back and floor of the wardrobe but his prize remained elusive. Lancaster stood back and noticed a box, set on the floor in front of the full-length mirror. He turned the key that had been left in it and opened the lid. There were holes made for six bottles. Two of the slots were empty and the other four contained bottles but they had nothing in them. He spun round and looked under the bed, reaching out to move pairs of shoes aside but still unable to find what he wanted. He clambered up and moved across to the chair. He peered behind it and then pulled out a dagger from it sheath. With a vicious swipe he slashed the padding of the seat. He slashed it twice more and thrust his hand inside, groping around but still he did not find the white blood that he sought.
“ Come on, what have you done with it?” he questioned.
He tipped the mattress off the bed and slashed that apart, straw littering the room, yet he was still no closer to finding what he wanted. He stood in the middle of the room and looked upwards, but there was nothing above him that could hide her bounty. Lancaster gave a curse and exited the room, making for the stairs. Taking two stairs at a time, Lancaster went downstairs and entered the bar where he found Beatrice waiting. She had gathered her cloak and stood at the door looking outside
“ Ben?” he shouted looking around for the landlord. There was no answer.
“ There’s nobody here,” said Beatrice, “ everyone has been running to the bridge.”
“ Come on,” said Lancaster striding past her,” let’s go and find out what is happening.”
They walked briskly across the square until they reached the corner where Captain Reznik’s house loomed over the village. They could hear the faint sound of shouting and the clash of metal from ahead of them.
“ Do you hear that?” asked Lancaster.
“ Yes, I do, someone is fighting.”
Lancaster quickened his pace, causing Beatrice to have to trot to keep up with him. He could see a small crowd of villagers ahead, just before the bridge, the two statues towering over them. The noise of combat had stopped as had the shouts, instead there was the murmur of talking rising from the gathered villagers. They were moving across to the apothecary and Lancaster made for that spot too.
“ Move aside, let me through,” he barked as he manhandled the villagers out of the way resulting in various curses and protestations. Beatrice followed in his wake. Lancaster reached the front of the crowd to find the Brother Knights sat in the snow outside the apothecary. A villager appeared atop the steps leading to the apothecary’s door.
“ There’s no answer,” he declared.
Lancaster looked back to the knights. Sir Simon was bleeding quite heavily from a wound to his side and Sir Joshua pulled a pained expression as a villager started to remove the poleyn from his knee. Both looked exhausted.
“ Brother Knights, what has happened?” asked Lancaster as he knelt besides Sir Simon.
“ We have sought to arrest Samael Thaindire at the inn, but he fled,” explained Sir Simon in between laboured breaths.
“ We cornered him at the bridge,” continued Sir Joshua before giving a wince of pain as the armour was removed from his knee, “ But he fights like the demon that he is. We wished to finish the fight but Captain Reznik has replaced us, to enable us to seek help for my brother and his wound.” Sir Joshua motioned towards his brother.
“ Where’s Alyssia?” demanded Lancaster of the crowd, but he was met with blank stares and the shaking of heads.
“ Move, move,” he cried, shoving a couple of villagers aside as he climbed the steps up to the apothecary. He hammered on the door shouting for Alyssia and then pressed his face against one of the windows in the door.”
“ Get back,” he said to the villager who had tried to alert Alyssia. Lancaster took one of his daggers and with the pommel smashed a window in the door. He knocked all the glass out and then reached through to unbolt the door and unlock it. He tried the door but it would not open. He shoved it violently and realised there was still a bolt at the bottom, but there was no window near it. Grunting, he shoved the door several times until the timber began to fracture at the base. With a firm kick it flew open, the wood splintering. The villager made to enter the apothecary.
“ No, stay here,” ordered Lancaster.
“ Alyssia?” he shouted as he walked into the store and straight to the curtained archway. There came no reply as he swept the curtain aside. He looked about her living area and immediately saw the raised trapdoor. He ran over and shouted down the stairs for the apothecary once again. Still there was no reply. Drawing a dagger, he carefully walked down the wooden steps. The basement remained lit and as he drew closer to its floor he saw a body lying on the floor ahead of him.
“ By Traen, what’s gone on here?”
He remained on the steps, surveying the basement. He saw the crumpled figure of Thorne on the other side of the basement but then his eyes widened as they fell upon the vial perched beneath the frame that had been constructed in the centre of the room. There sat a vial of white blood. Not quite full, but white blood all the same. Lancaster hurried down the steps and snatched up the vial. He sloshed the contents from side-to-side, relieved that they had not dried and shook his fist in triumph. He moved to the shelving and searched amidst the paraphernalia he found there until he located a stopper to place in the top of the bottle. Carefully, he slid the vial into his belt, beneath the fur and then moved over to Alyssia. He could see that she was alive, her chest rising and falling gently. He stepped away and made his way over to the other fallen figure. His nose wrinkled as he saw the blood staining the dirt floor form where it had leaked from the body. He hesitantly leaned over the body to look at the removed head.
“ Campion,” he said. He returned to Thorne and gently shook her.
“ Alyssia, come on, wake up.”
The apothecary gave a low moan. He could see a bump on her temple, discoloured by bruising. He slipped his arms under her and lifted her easily, for she was slight in build and weighed little. She gave another murmur as he carried her up the steps and through to the store.
“ What’s happened?” asked the waiting villager as Lancaster appeared, Alyssia in his arms.
“ I don’t know, I found her unconscious in her basement,” replied Lancaster. Carefully he set her down on the floor of the apothecary. They looked at the herbalist whose skin loo
ked dry and lined, contrasting with its usual flawless appearance.
“ Beatrice,” called Lancaster. After a moment the maid entered the store.
“ How are they?” asked Lancaster of the knights.
“ They are removing their armour so we can tend to their wounds, though Sir Simon has suffered a grave injury.”
“ We need Alyssia to come round.”
“ I’ll find some essence of camone, that’ll bring her to her senses.”
Beatrice stepped around the prone Alyssia and began to look over the various packets and bottles on the shelves of the apothecary.
“ Here we are,” she announced selecting a bottle from the rack in front of here. She pulled out the cork and sniffed at the contents.
“ Phew, that’s the stuff,” she remarked at the pungent stench, which rose from the uncorked bottle.
“ Get it over here,” said Lancaster waving Beatrice towards him.
Beatrice stooped and Lancaster motioned for the villager to lift Alyssia into a sitting position. Beatrice wafted the neck of the bottle under her nose.
“ Ur, what?” spluttered Alyssia as she blinked and her eyes rolled in her head. Beatrice waved the essence beneath Alyssia’s nose again and this time, the apothecary brought her hand up to swipe the smell away. Her eyes focussed.
“ My head,” she croaked.
“ Alyssia, it’s Beatrice and Cyon.” Alyssia looked at the maid.
“ What’s going on?”
“ We need your help, the brother knights are injured.”
“Where?”
“Outside.”
“ What happened to you?” asked Lancaster. Another villager appeared with a cup of water for Alyssia, which she took and gulped down thirstily.
“ Father Thomas attacked me, that’s all I remember. He must have rendered me senseless.”
“ He did, I found you unconscious in your basement.”
“ The basement? Where’s the white blood?” asked Alyssia her eyes sharpening in alarm.
“ There isn’t any white blood,” replied Lancaster.
“ No, the white blood, the witch hunter.”
“ He is on the bridge, the brother knights tried to arrest him but he fought them off. Captain Reznik is trying to deal with him now.”
“ He bested the Brother Knights in his condition?” asked Alyssia confused.
“Yes, he fought with considerable skill and fierceness,” interjected one of the villagers.
“ He can’t have, he won’t be strong enough.”
“ Believe me, he fights with the strength of three, I have seen it with my own eyes,” confirmed the villager. Alyssia looked puzzled.
“ Help me up, let me tend to the knights. Perhaps they can tell me more about the white blood.”
The villager pulled Alyssia to her feet. She took a moment to steady herself.
“Will you be alright?” asked Beatrice.
“ Yes, yes, my head throbs but I can sort that out. I need to gather poultices for their wounds,” said Alyssia and she gripped the counter moving her way around to the other side of it and her array of wares.
“ Stay with her. Give her help and have a care for her too,” instructed Lancaster.
“ Where are you going?” asked Beatrice.
“ I have a matter of great urgency to attend to. You two,” Lancaster jabbed a finger at the two villagers, “ help the ladies and I will make it worth your while.”
“ Yes Master Lancaster,” they replied in unison.
Lancaster strode out of the store, down the steps and away from the crowd. He could hear snarling and the sounds of combat once more. He was tempted to watch the fight, but he had more pressing matters to attend to, now he had acquired the white blood. He gave the vial a reassuring tap as he walked purposefully back to the inn.
Chapter Thirty
Reznik and four of his imps advanced towards Thaindire. The witch hunter held his ground, demonstrating no fear as the mercenary and his underlings bore down on him. Thaindire wrenched the dagger from his shoulder with only a flicker of discomfort and Reznik observed this movement with a degree of concern. The white-haired man flung the dagger towards one of the imps. It struck it full in the throat causing it to gurgle and collapse to the ground, before it crumbled to dust. The second imp hopped onto the wall of the bridge and increased its momentum, running along the stonework towards Thaindire. The third and fourth imps also quickened their approach, allowing Reznik time to amble forward, his sabre swinging back and forth as if he was conducting an orchestra. The leading imp leapt from the wall, talons thrust forward as it aimed to assail Thaindire.
The witch hunter swung hard with his long sword and with an arcing blow, sliced the encroaching imp in two, the two halves flying in separate directions before turning to grey dust. His attack, whilst successful, had enabled the remaining two imps to close on him and one slashed at his knee. Thaindire evaded that attack, but was caught a slight, stinging blow by the final imp across the inside of his thigh. He thrust downwards with his blade, but the imp hopped to one side. Reznik swung for Thaindire’s neck, the sabre moving speedily through the air. Thaindire parried and then kicked out at an imp, knocking it backwards into the snow. He stepped backwards, evading another swing from Reznik, the closest imp trying to jump onto his leg and sink its teeth into his thigh. Thaindire kept retreating, readily repelling the incisive strikes that Reznik delivered as the imps surged at him one more. With a sweeping blow, he cut into one, lifting it off its feet and up into the air. It hit the bridge hard and then crumbled into the grey ash like its kin. The remaining imp made for the bridge, seeking height from which to assault the witch hunter. As it moved away, Thaindire distanced himself from the wall and shifted position to go on the offensive against Reznik. His larger blade meant Reznik needed to dart aside as the long sword hacked at him repeatedly. The imp hovered on the periphery of the fight, waiting for the two combatants to come closer so it could jump onto Thaindire. Reznik sidestepped another attack and countered, his sabre whistling as he cut left and right, trying to slice Thaindire’s head from his shoulders. Thaindire raised his blade, parrying again and again as Reznik’s increased assault drove him towards the imp. It waited, ichor dripping from its lips as its prey edged nearer. With a growl it leapt onto Thaindire’s back, the talons gripping his cloak. Thaindire whirled, trying to dislodge the imp, but it was to no avail. He ducked as Reznik sliced at him once again. The imp bit down hard, seeking to puncture through the cloak. Its needle-like teeth bit into the fabric, but it did not yield. Again the imp tried, snarling as it bit once, twice, three times. The material of the cloak continued to shield Thaindire as he exchanged blows with the mercenary, the imp clinging onto his cloak behind him. Realising that its biting was having no effect on the witch hunter, the imp scampered up his back and made for Thaindire’s head.
Reznik and Thaindire locked swords, the sabre sliding down the large blade enabling Thaindire to gain momentum, He gave a fierce shove and the mercenary stumbled backwards, but did not lose his footing. This gave Thaindire enough time to reach upwards as the imp neared his head and with a gloved hand grab the miscreant and wrench it free from him. He hurled the fiendish imp to the ground and as it sought to right itself, the witch hunter drove his blade through its middle. The slain imp slumped to the ground, slowly dissolving into the familiar grey dust.
“ Just me and you, Reznik,” said Thaindire. He glanced to the edge of the bridge and saw that the villagers had thinned in number but he knew not why.
“ A fight on equal terms and one that I shall win,” added the witch hunter, emboldened by his successes at repelling his opponents.
Novac had reached the church, the sounds of battle carrying through the air behind him. He halted at the church gate as he waved for the watching acolyte to come to him.
“ Get him inside,” he said to Lyndsey who was helping the still blinded Lackland through the gate, “ one of our brethren will see to him.” Lyndsey nodded an
d led Lackland along the path as the acolyte ran past them to his superior.
“ Mordthos, take this and hand it to Tsangarides. Tell him to keep it in his sight at all times.” The acolyte made to set off, but Novac grabbed his robe.
“ Bring me Tuelsin and Kassine and follow me back to the bridge, we have something precious to collect.”
Mordthos nodded and taking the leather bag containing the white blood, darted back towards the church, overtaking the lumbering Lackland. Novac watched as his acolyte bounded up the steps and into the church. Novac waited by the church gate. He could hear the snarling and shouting coming from the bridge, but the lane twisted away southwards as it reached the church yard, resulting in the bridge begin obscured by the trees.
“ Come on, come on,” muttered Novac. He looked to the doorway again but it remained empty. He paced towards one of the carriages contemplating taking it to the bridge but he could see no driver. Rouse and Garron, the two remaining drivers had vanished. Returning to the gate, he looked again at the doorway, only to find it devoid of activity. Giving a snort of impatience, he turned and wheeled around. The Arch Priest reached for his black mace, which hung from his belt and set off back down the lane towards the bridge. The noise of conflict continued to drift across the still, cold air and he hoped that these brother knights were wearing down Thandire so it would be a simple job to subdue Thaindire and take him for his own purposes. The knights would be too weary from their fight to protest and he would summon Manfur’s help if so required. Novac marched onwards, his boots kicking through the snow until the bridge came into view below him. He could see the fight raging still, although there appeared to be some change in the combatants. The brother knights were no longer engaged in attacking Thaindire, in fact, he could not see them at all. Instead, the witch hunter was being assailed by a slim fellow clad in a dark uniform, quite possibly a soldier and some smaller figures darted about, trying to hurt the witch hunter, but he was clearly holding his own.