It read: ‘What goes around comes around. You and your kind slaughtered my father and now it’s my turn. Tobin squealed like a pig and cried like a baby when we visited him, and now we have his daughter and her child. If you give yourselves up to me they go free. If not, they will die just as slowly and painfully as the blacksmith, so you have until sunset tomorrow to make your decision.’
Thomas and Dody were horrified. Where is Dardo, thought Dody? He had left him with Lira when he set off to find Tobin. Now he was gone too.
‘The Bible says there is a time for everything,’ said Thomas finally, a steely glint in his eyes, ‘a time to be born, a time to plant seed, a time to reap the harvest, and even a time to die. Well, Ozhobar was certainly born, planted the seeds of his own destruction and is about to reap the whirlwind – for no man takes what's mine and lives. I’m back – and here to do what I do best.’
Much later that evening at the Dog and Duck, Thomas kept watch for the coming dawn the whole night long while Dody slept uncomfortably on a table top. He sat in his usual chair with his back to the wall and kept glancing out of the window, waiting for the sunrise, and every now and again he would stand and prowl restlessly around the bar-room kicking various objects. He was greatly troubled and snarled and cursed his displeasure, but nothing disturbed Dody’s deep sleep. He was so tired that even if a thunderbolt had struck him he would have carried on snoring.
Again Thomas snorted, cursing as old memories of Ozhan and Ozhobar flared, filling his mind with hate, and he stewed and fretted for hours, finally kicking the bar doors open as the first rays of the sun came into view through the windows.
Dody awoke with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. ‘What…?’ he said shaking his head, and he stretched, yawned and scratched.
The sunshine was rising up the walls, turning them red, green and gold tinged with a myriad of other colours as Thomas stood calm, savouring the peace and quiet. Then reality struck home. This could be the last day of my life, he thought. It could also be the last day of my wife and child’s life, and my two good friends. But then, that’s what a warrior’s life is all about, not being a slave to your fears and I have already conquered mine. I’m not too sure about Dody and Dardo though, but I'll certainly find out in the next few hours.
He turned back around and strode through the bar, exiting a door into the stairwell and climbed the twenty-two steps up to his bedroom, swung open the door and plucked his double sword-belt from the back of a chair, strapping it around his waist, tightening it with the silver buckle. Then he superstitiously altered it minutely. Now the panic was gone and all that remained was the task. He was going to stab the baron to death today, or the baron was going to kill him. To Thomas it was that simple.
He thought of Master Gallus, his trainer, and of the perils they had faced together over the years. More than once they had been alone and friendless on clandestine shores with the enemy baying at their heels, and more than once they had faced the enemy together and overcome them. This gave him the confidence he needed. Ozhobar was a killer of men and there was a time when Thomas had known how many had died under his blade in official duels, but now he was murdering men, women and children and plundering their farms looking for gold Unarmed the farmers had no chance and were hacked down without mercy, their blood staining the fields.
He slammed the bedroom door shut, turned and walked back down the stairs, across the stairwell and bar and strode calmly out of the double doors with Dody following him, and he stood briefly watching a flock of wild geese crossing the suns face. He smiled. ‘By sunset they'll all be hundreds of miles away,’ he said shielding his eyes from the glare with his hand. His smile turned into a scowl. ‘Ozhobar will wish he were hundreds of miles away too before the sun sets again.’ He untied his stallion from the hitching post and mounted. Dody followed suit, doing as Thomas bid, mounting his horse also. Then seemingly from out of nowhere Dardo leapt in front of them barring their way.
Startled, both horses reared up on hind legs and whinnied, eyes rolling wildly. Thomas and Dody stilled them, staring down at their friend. ‘Where in Hell’s name have you been man and what exactly happened here?’ asked Thomas.
‘Where have I been? Where have you been? We all thought you were dead! Ozhobar happened here and took me by surprise,’ he countered clutching a lump the size of a duck egg on the back of his skull.
Thomas shook his head angrily; his face white and twisted with anguish. ‘Talk sense man. I’ll explain what happened to me later.’
‘The baron came with his band of cut-throats, and when I tried to stop him from taking Lira and the child he knocked me senseless with a wooden cudgel and left me for dead. I’ve only just come back to my senses. I was out cold in the stables,’ said Dardo, his green eyes holding to the warrior’s gaze.
Thomas sat his horse in silence for a moment, and in the sunlight his face looked quite young, boyish almost, but it was still the face of a hardened killer. Then he spoke again. ‘Four years ago we faced an evil man who we contained and finally removed from the world by force. The same man is back in a different guise and once again the blight needs to be removed, so are you both with me?’ he asked.
Of all the swordsmen Dardo and Dody had ever known, Thomas was quite simply the best and they knew it. Even more to the point, he knew they knew it. Both men nodded soberly.
Now the three friends rode their horses down the deserted tree-lined streets of Nottingham, and everywhere they looked there were the signs of the baron’s oppressive rule. Burned building with huge cracks in the walls stood silently, half a dozen corpses were hanging from the gibbet in Gallows Square, and several more chained in the pillory and stocks awaiting the same gruesome fate – and their only crime was stealing a loaf of stale bread or a piece of maggoty meat rather than starve to death. Neither was nourishing, but it was better than having nothing at all in a hungry man’s belly. Thomas shook his head, scowling at the sight.
All three men wore forest greens with their swords strapped to their waists. Dody however, still carried his lethal slingshot and several small black pebbles in a small pouch strung to his sword belt. It was still his favourite weapon and just as effective as any blade. He had proved too, years earlier by dispatching Ozhan to his maker with a single shot to the temple.
For fifteen minutes they crossed dozens of roads, avenues and alleys, lines of shops, stalls and workplaces, passing the formidable looking lion statues on the Nottingham Bridge, until they hit the long dusty Great North Road. Then they angled their journey south towards their destination – the new baron’s almost impregnable fortress mansion, which he had inherited from his father. They passed by broken walls, a trickling stream glinting in the sunlight and several recognisable landmarks, including a windmill, and there was a farmer exercising horses in a nearby field. Then finally after crossing several barren fields, Ozhobar’s home with its fine lines and spires, buttresses and bulwarks came into view.
The three friends stopped short, sitting their horses silently, awed by the sight, their unblinking gaze wandering out across the floor of the courtyard and stables, but there wasn’t a soul to be seen. The whole place looked deserted. Thomas turned his head staring at the neighbouring checkerboard of meadows and fields, dissected by a meandering river and he noticed the distinct absence of farm workers. Also an odd haze hung over the whole hillside partly obscuring their vision, but they could pick out what they needed to see, particularly the lie of the land.
The mansion was no more than a mile distant from where they sat astride their horses, and it too was swathed in mist and shadows, backed by a forest. They all squinted against the muted light of the morning sun to see more clearly and the familiar oak and bronze gate caught Thomas’ gaze.
‘What are you thinking?’ asked Dardo.
‘I’m thinking it’s a trap like last time obviously,’ said Thomas, his voice deep and resonant.
The answer did nothing to reassure Dardo or Dody and fear shone in
their eyes, but Thomas looked as stalwart as ever. ‘Listen to me,’ he said leaning forward, stroking his stallions head, ‘I would never do anything that I didn’t think was right and you know that, but Ozhobar is the living embodiment of evil, and while ever he casts his shadow over this land nothing will grow tall and straight – not man, nor beast, nor crop. The solution therefore is simple. Remove the blight with surgical precision before it spreads further and that’s exactly what I intend to do with your help.’ He swung down from his saddle. ‘I can’t guarantee that we'll survive the day so, if either of you have no stomach for what is about to happen, leave now while you still can and nothing will ever be said of it.’
Dardo and Dody looked hard at him, their flinty eyes raking his lean, unshaven face. They shook their heads stubbornly. ‘We understand what you’re saying…’ said Dardo, his voice a whisper.
‘…But we don’t want to leave,’ interrupted Dody, ‘we're with you all the way.’
Thomas smiled weakly, tightening his saddle and bridle and then he remounted. ‘Then let’s get out of here and get on with the job. Today is the day of reckoning,’ he said tapping the tightly bound hilts of his swords.
Dody shivered as memories of Tobin’s horrendous murder flared within him. His shattered body floated before his eyes and he could even hear the baron's laughter echoing in his head. Thomas hesitated briefly and then shook his reins. Heeling the horse forward he angled it towards the mansion. Dardo and Dody took off after him into the valley of death.
Chapter16
Ozhobar poured a goblet of wine, draining it in a single swallow. It was his favourite vintage, bottled in 1166 A.D., which was a very good year for the vineyards of France. He poured another, draining it again, staring out of his library window at the riders heading his way. ‘See how they hasten to their deaths,’ he said with a hiss, smiling maliciously at Lira, ‘but there are three of them. Who is the third rider?’
Olivia ran to the window, gazing out at the long dust cloud. Suddenly there was a glint of hope in her eyes as she spotted the leader of the three riders. ‘Mommy… it's daddy… it is daddy... he’s back and coming for us,’ she said choking back the tears of joy. ‘He’s alive... really alive!’
Lira spun around and ran to the window to see what was happening. ‘Oh thank God,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It's him... it is.’
‘So, Thomas is alive after all,' snapped Ozhobar. ‘They’re all brave men, but they are fools. They're outnumbered, outflanked and should surrender to me.’
Lira looked at him sharply. ‘I don’t think that will ever happen. Thomas will come for us and will kill you,’ she said, tears of joy in her eyes.
Ozhobar shook his head. ‘I have a real problem now,’ he said, his voice flat and cold. ‘You have spirit and nerve, but I think I’ll have to kill you and the child for your insolence.’
She looked at him sharply again. ‘Touch a single hair on my child’s head and you will die a horrible, violent death. I would be careful what you do this day, for your life hangs by a thread.’
He stared at her for a brief moment and laughed. ‘I admire your nerve.’ Pouring a third goblet of wine he sipped at it, but this time the flavour seemed lost on the thought of facing her husband. He walked over to the metal mirror hung on the window wall and stared at his reflection, studying his eyes. Both of them seemed to glow in different colours, just as his father’s had before him. His left eye was steely-blue like a swordfish. The right was red like a hot burning coal. Now he stared hard at his own flat, brutal face, criss-crossed with deep scars. He was the absolute image of the man who had sired him. ‘I'm going to grow old and fat with rich living,’ he announced finally, ‘but your husband will not. Today is the last day he will wake up with his aches and pains. Today is the last day of his violent life.’
Lira shook her head defiantly. ‘You're a dull-witted, vain man Ozhobar, and I wouldn’t count on that. My husband is a very resourceful and resilient man.’
He shrugged. ‘The trap is baited and set. Your husband rides to his death, as do his friends.’
‘You think him stupid, when he's not. He's a seasoned swordsman with a sharp mind and the reflexes of a cat,’ she countered.
‘Daddy’s swords are sharp and he will stick you with them,’ added Olivia, pantomiming the movement.
‘We’ll see,’ said the baron switching his gaze back to the oncoming riders, who were stern of face, ‘but for now it’s back to the dungeons where you both belong.’ He clapped his hands and two huge men appeared in the doorway.
‘Yes, master?’ said one of them.
‘Take them back down to the catacombs and lock them up,’ Ozhobar ordered.
‘Immediately, master,’ said the other placing a huge hand on Lira’s shoulder.
‘Get off me you great lout,’ she said shrugging his hand away.
‘Then please follow me,’ he said with a stern gaze. She didn't reply, but did as he bid.
In the few moments directly after the guards led Lira and Olivia away, Ozhobar stood at his high balcony window watching the three riders getting closer and closer. Then his gaze switched to his own horse guards coming up and over the crest of a rise in pursuit, and at first he felt an overpowering sense of relief as his men rounded on Thomas and friends, cutting them off, but suddenly his men were falling like flies, hacked from their saddles by Thomas' and Dardo’s flashing blades and Dody’s lethal sling shot. In all, twenty men fell beneath the warriors’ horses hooves and didn't rise again.
Heat flared inside the baron’s head and he felt the onset of a terrible fear, watching as Thomas’ horse almost stumbled but righted itself and carried on at the gallop towards the gate of oak and bronze. Thomas heeled his horse faster and faster, lashing the reins from side to side and the stallion’s muscles bunched as it surged forward with tremendous power and even greater speed.
More and more enemy riders cut across the three friends line of sight, charging at them, and again they were hacked to pieces without a second thought as they galloped on, outpacing the rest of their pursuers. At the top of a second ridge Thomas pulled hard on his reins and came to a sudden halt, looking back at the hillside littered with dead bodies and awash with blood. Terrified horses were stumbling around the killing field blindly, whinnying, snorting and shaking their heads.
Thomas turned back around to see the gate of oak and bronze swing open and another dozen or so guards scramble out into a gully, covered from head to toe in thick chain mail with only their eyes showing. Each had a bow, axe or blade of some kind and they were led by a fat warrior who tried his best to run, but couldn’t due to the sheer weight of his armour.
Thomas wondered how to combat these men as their own swords would be of little use. Dody answered his quandary immediately when he suddenly darted forward from behind him and let fly with his sling, the stone hitting one of the guards high on the forehead, staggering him. The man dropped to his knees and slumped to the floor in an unconscious state. Thomas watched Dody reload, methodical in his every action. Then he let fly again and again, picking off the guards one by one until there was only the fat one standing. He turned and tried to run, tripping over his own feet and fell hitting his head hard, knocking him unconscious too.
The baron was still watching the action from his high balcony window. More heat flared inside his head and he felt another pang of terrible fear. Biting his lower lip he was wondering what to do, and then he fled for the sanctuary of the dungeons in the lower catacombs as Thomas and friends fought their way through anyone or anything barring their way.
When he finally reached the dungeons the gate that stood before him was heavy and huge and he couldn’t move it at all. I'll be a lot safer if I can get inside, he thought, wondering how to escape Thomas’ wrath. Most who knew him assumed he was fearless, and indeed he had been. In past years the Ringmaster had paid him well for his fighting skills in the dungeons against the other warriors, but he now knew Thomas Flynn was even more skilful and deadl
y.
Outside, the three friends had finally breached the gates and were scrambling their way through the courtyard to the stables when another group of twenty men armed with pikes, swords and cudgels rounded on them. Thomas and friends ruthlessly cut their way through each one of them and made their way up the spiral stone staircase leading to Ozhobar’s library where Dody’s booted foot kicked in the door.
The three men entered cautiously, expecting the unexpected, but there was no one there. Now they ran swiftly along hallway after hallway, throwing open every door or kicking them in, until there were no more to be opened. Thomas decided to leave his two friends searching the upper levels while he went below into the catacombs to search for Lira and Olivia.
Meanwhile in the dungeons, the baron had found a silver crossbow with a slim stock and wings of iron, beside a quiver of stiffened buckskin containing thirty short black quarrels. He sat quietly in the cloistered shadows waiting, eyes narrowed, and he didn’t have to wait long to see Thomas crest the top of the stone staircase. Outside the wind had whipped up and was screaming through the holes in the red catacomb walls creating an eerie whine that seemed to fill the air, and a sulphurous odour mixed and combined with coal oil fumes to create an awful sickly smell.
Ozhobar loaded the crossbow, waiting patiently as Thomas moved down the staircase with great energy, switching his gaze from side to side uneasily. He waited until the warrior reached the last step. Then he fired and the crossbow sang, the bolt hissing through the air, slamming into Thomas’ left shoulder. He gave out an animalistic scream as the pain filled his mind.
A Violent Man ( the story of Thomas Flynn ) Page 23