by Damien Black
Suddenly it gave vent to another blood-curdling shriek and flew up into the night sky. This time it wasn’t circling for another attack: soaring high above the battlements, it vanished into the blackened firmament as abruptly as it had emerged.
He longed to stop right then, but knew they couldn’t risk it yet. It might be a trick – the thing had shown evidence of possessing an alien intelligence. The knights and soldiers about him remained stiff and tense, refusing to break formation as he and Horskram continued to recite scripture without missing a syllable.
They continued like that for a while, and the demon did not return. Gradually they brought the mantra to a close. Adelko could feel a palpable wave of relief washing over everyone, the panicked horses and oxen subsiding into fidgety silence as knights and soldiers embraced one another. Some even whooped and cheered.
Overcome with exhaustion, Adelko collapsed to the ground with his mentor. As he stared up at the stars in the firmament he felt joyful and relieved: once again they had prevailed. The denizen of the Other Side sent to kill them had been repulsed.
But even then a nagging and unsettling question gnawed at the back of his mind. For how long?
CHAPTER XII
The Road To Sanctuary
They counted the cost of victory beneath a sad but welcome sunrise. Some twenty knights and men-at-arms had perished, with a like number wounded. Half the latter were beyond saving and several others would be maimed for life. Vaskrian was among the few casualties lucky enough to have escaped with light injuries.
‘Just a few scratches,’ he said breezily as they took him to be treated by the castle chirurgeon for a couple of fractured ribs and minor cuts and bruises. ‘Nothing a true warrior like me can’t handle.’
He was putting a brave face on things – and wasting no opportunity to assert his knightly fortitude – but Adelko could sense his friend was just as tense and drained as he was. This time there was no convenient faerie magic to cushion the squire’s memory from the horror he had just grappled with. Nor his own for that matter.
The demon had also put an end to around a dozen horses, including several Farovian destriers. A like number had been struck blind or driven so mad that they would never consent to be ridden again.
‘Such is yon demon’s baleful influence on the animal kingdom it mocks so grotesquely,’ muttered Horskram darkly. Adelko recalled Landebert’s story back in the stone hut. Not for the first time on their journey, nor he suspected the last, he suppressed a shudder.
Much of the garrison were still in shock as they went about cleaning up the wreckage left by the devil’s assault. The corpses were placed in a corner of the courtyard and covered with tarpaulin. It was normal practice to send the remains of noble-born knights back to their families, whilst the ordinary soldiers were given plots in the graveyard not far from the castle.
As the ashen-faced men used the wreckage of shattered wayns to make a funeral pyre for the slain horses, the chaplain intoned a prayer for the souls of the dead. Adelko hadn’t found time to thank him for his spiritual aid. It probably hadn’t made all that much difference truth be told, but the man’s bravery and piety deserved recognition.
In spite of his better instincts, he found himself hoping that the victims’ shades hadn’t been dragged back to Gehenna with their preternatural killer – the Argolians generally taught that a shriven soul was entitled to fair judgment in the afterlife regardless of demonic interference, but the superstitions of his people claimed otherwise, and old beliefs died hard. Making the sign and intoning a prayer of his own for the dead, he resolved to place his trust in the Almighty’s power. After all, it had just saved them yet again.
Some of the men had not recovered from the terror inflicted by the demon’s presence. The worst of these – mostly menials and less experienced knights and soldiers – were confined to the upper dungeon cells under close watch until their damaged minds could recover. Adelko wondered what the regular criminals and vagabonds would make of their new fellow inmates, and if they even had an inkling of the calamity that had befallen the castle the previous night.
His reverie was interrupted by Vaskrian, who came striding across the courtyard from the keep to speak to him. His torso was swaddled in tight bandages. If he felt any pain he showed no sign of it.
‘How are you?’ asked Adelko.
‘Fine,’ replied the squire. ‘The chirurgeon gave me a poultice for the pain – not that it was so bad in the first place. Says I’ll heal in time, fractures aren’t serious.’
He still seemed tense beneath his veneer of hardiness, but Adelko did not press the matter.
‘Horskram said to bring you,’ Vaskrian continued. ‘Says the High Commander wants to see us in his solar again – I suppose they want to finish questioning us.’
‘I wonder what they’ll make of Master Horskram’s answers now,’ replied Adelko, feeling suddenly very weary. It had been a long and sleepless night. Turning his back gratefully on the blood-spattered courtyard the novice followed the squire back inside the keep.
The solar was the same as they had left it, only this time the south windows afforded a daytime view of the courtyard, its white walls, and the wooded ridges beyond. The same knights were assembled around the sturdy table – all save Sir Yorrick, who now lay with the other corpses of the slain. Horskram was there, gazing broodingly out of the windows from the same seat he had occupied the night before.
The grim faces of the surviving knights looked pale and drawn in the morning light as the High Commander bade the two youths resume their seats next to him with a curt gesture. The sentry – a different one from last night, older and more grizzled – closed the door behind them at Prince Freidhoff’s bidding.
Turning a stony gaze on Horskram the High Commander cleared his throat. ‘Thirty of my men lie dead or dying, and we have not even ridden off to war,’ he began. ‘Many more are out of their wits, babbling of a horror which I myself can scarcely begin to comprehend, though I have witnessed it with mine own eyes. You have intimated that this... creature is bound up with your own quest, details of which you are chary of revealing. My son presses for the harshest means of chastisement to persuade you to divulge said details. Hitherto I was not minded to agree with him – for he is young, impetuous and headstrong.’
Sir Wolmar, who was scowling at the three of them, made as if to protest this last remark, but his father held up a gauntleted hand. ‘He is young, impetuous and headstrong,’ he repeated firmly. ‘But in light of what has just occurred, I will not hesitate to heed his counsel if you persist in your obstinate secrecy. The choice is yours, Master Horskram: either you finish your story here in my solar, or you finish it in the lower dungeon.’
For one fearful moment Adelko thought that his mentor would not yield, that he would stubbornly condemn them all to iron and fire below Staerkvit, with Wolmar leering on sadistically.
He breathed an inward sigh of relief when the adept nodded slowly and replied: ‘I had hoped to conceal the true reason for our journey from you, for the fewer people that know of such a calamity the better. But after last night I realise I cannot reasonably hope to prevail upon you to let our secret go unrevealed.’
And so he told them everything, about the evil spirit at Rykken, the fragment and its theft, of his suspicions of demonic interference and black magic, of the warlock Andragorix and his struggle with him in Roarkil several years before, of the tale of Søren and Morwena long centuries ago and what the reuniting of the Headstone might mean for the world. And he told them of his fears of revealing the theft and what it might portend for the Order of St Argo if the mainstream Temple got wind of it: the very Temple that he now sought an audience with, so he might beg a drop of the Redeemer’s blood to protect them on their journey to Rima.
When he was done the High Commander leaned back in his chair, considering all that had just been said. None of the knights said a word. Aronn and Torgun sat wide-eyed as if barely able to take in all that they had hea
rd. Toric frowned, deep in thought, his ugly face a picture of consternation. Redrun stared down at the table, expressionless. Even Wolmar was speechless, though Adelko thought his green eyes still glinted malignantly. Tarlquist was staring at Freidhoff anxiously, as if the two shared some unspoken thought.
Even Vaskrian looked impressed, although it was hard to tell what the squire really made of the gravity of their situation. So far he seemed to have treated their predicament as one big adventure, ripe with opportunities for an ambitious young hotblood. Adelko supposed that if Tintagael and last night’s encounter didn’t change that perception, nothing would.
At length the High Commander spoke again. ‘Your tale is a dire one,’ he said. ‘So much so that I am inclined to believe it. Indeed, all the more so given the battle tidings I have received of late – and I begin to suspect, Master Horskram, that you will not have to look to your old foe to find your sorcerous mastermind.’
He gave the adept no time to weigh these cryptic words as he turned to meet Tarlquist’s steady gaze. ‘Sir Tarlquist,’ he said. ‘Master Horskram has been so good as to share information with us, I think it is time we repaid him in kind – tell our guests what you told me three days ago.’
Sir Tarlquist nodded as though he had been expecting this, and turned to look at Horskram. ‘You will forgive me, master monk, if I withheld the following details when we first met on the road,’ he began. ‘But you of all people will appreciate the value of secrecy when faced with an uncertain ally.’
‘Of course,’ replied Horskram, nodding curtly and fixing the knight with a quizzical look. ‘Please do not feel you have to explain such things – but I would hear your story now if it please you.’
With a curt nod the knight let them have it. He told them of their brave ride to relieve beleaguered Salmor, how they had come upon one of Thule’s armies at dusk and taken them unawares. It sounded more foolhardy than brave to Adelko – they had been outnumbered tenfold. But then he supposed such derring-do was meat and drink to the Order of the White Valravyn.
Vaskrian’s eyes shone as he listened. The novice guessed he was picturing himself as part of that bold sortie, and he seemed to hang on to Tarlquist’s every word.
His rapt expression soon darkened when the knight reached the part about the ensorcelled moat. Horskram’s frown deepened as Tarlquist described the gigantic forms of knights, fashioned of naught but water, riding round and round the castle and preventing Kelmor’s forces from sallying forth to aid their rescuers.
‘Thaumaturgy,’ said Horskram, spitting out the word with distaste. ‘One of the Seven Disciplines of Magick, which gives the practitioner unnatural control over the natural forces of the world. This Sea Wizard would appear to have a powerful command of it.’
‘After we saw that we knew we had lost the battle,’ resumed Tarlquist, finishing his story. ‘The rebel host pressed in upon us, and not even our valour and superior skill at arms could hope to win the day without the reinforcements we had so anticipated. The dozen knights you met on the king’s highway were those of us who managed to cut our way out and escape under cover of darkness – the best warriors in the land, reduced by foul sorcery to fleeing the field like thieves in the night!’ The battle-scarred knight shook his head ruefully.
‘Have some cheer,’ put in Torgun. ‘By my reckoning we left at least two dead or wounded for every one we lost – and those of our number who were captured and not slain will most likely be held for ransom. So not all honour was lost, and we shall see some of our comrades again, I trow!’
Horskram appeared not in the least concerned with knightly honour as he addressed Tarlquist: ‘I had no inkling that Thule had allied himself with the powers of darkness. If so then his treachery runs deeper than we could have imagined.’
‘Whatever the truth of the matter, Master Horskram,’ said Prince Freidhoff, ‘it would appear that the troubles of the realm and the troubles of your Order may be linked – assuming this “sea wizard” is behind the theft you spoke of. It would certainly explain why the fiendish thing we faced last night chose to attack us – if Thule has enlisted the services of a warlock who can conjure up such things to trouble us in the heart of loyalist lands, then he will prove a formidable foe indeed!’
The hoary old commander made the sign of the Wheel. Horskram absently followed suit, touching his forehead perfunctorily. But it was obvious to Adelko that his master’s mind was awhirl with thoughts, not all of them pious.
‘I am not convinced the demon was sent specifically to attack Staerkvit,’ said the adept carefully. ‘Rather I think it was summoned again – either by this sorcerer or another wizard – to renew its pursuit of us. Whoever wants us dead is evidently versed in Scrying, which we know to be the Fourth Discipline of Magick, and therefore capable of spying on us. But from what we’ve learned from captured warlocks in the past, it is an unwieldy tool that can often mislead a lesser practitioner. Let us be thankful for that much at least!’
Freidhoff nodded perfunctorily, looking about as interested in the finer points of sorcery as Horskram had in the finer points of chivalry just a moment ago.
‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘What do you make of this then?’
‘I think our sorcerous antagonist must have sent his or her unearthly servitor after us again when he or she learned we had survived Tintagael,’ replied the adept. ‘Such a demon will materialise within a certain radius of its intended target – from there it must rely on whatever unnatural senses the Fallen One has gifted it with to track down its prey. It nearly had us on the Wold, and again at Sördegil, and here last night – the more contact it has with us, the stronger its sense of our psychic spoor becomes, if you follow. But although as you have seen it is dreadfully strong, certain natural substances abjure it somewhat – it likes not stone, and wood seems to confound its senses to a degree.’
‘So why attack the strongest castle in the realm?’ asked Wolmar. It was the first time he had spoken in a while. His tone was as abrasive as ever. Adelko wished he had kept quiet.
‘The Author of All Evil gave his diabolical creations a crafty deviousness in mockery of his own,’ replied Horskram. ‘Coming on us last night, yon horror must have sensed our presence and realised that the best way of goading us out into the open was to attack the garrison. It knew that two god-fearing monks of the Order would never cower behind walls whilst good men were being slaughtered without.’
Hearing this the High Commander pursed his lips and fixed his steely eyes on Horskram. ‘So what you are saying, master monk, is that essentially you and your quest to save your precious Order from being publicly humiliated have brought this calamity on us?’
Now it was Horskram’s turn to get steely. ‘No, High Commander, what I am saying is that the reason why someone wants us dead is because they don’t want word of the theft to spread – as I have just explained, Sacristen was never meant to breathe a word of it to anyone, for fear of the humiliation you speak of. And the reason they don’t want the world to know is so they can continue their plans in secret. And if those plans amount to what I think they do it will spell calamity for all of us – the whole realm, aye and the wide world beyond!’
‘You speak of secrecy, master monk, yet you yourself sought to shroud your own journey in it!’ Wolmar interjected again. ‘You’re little better than this Sacristen you speak of – you’d rather save your Order from being purged again than alert the world to this terror you speak of!’
‘Do not speak of the Purge!’ exclaimed Horskram sharply, before collecting himself and adding in a calmer voice: ‘I would not have the whole world know of this, ‘tis true, but I would tell the right people, those who need to know!’
‘Aye, and who would they be?’ rejoined the High Commander suspiciously. Adelko began to have a sinking feeling that this might not go as well as he had hoped.
‘You know yourself,’ replied Horskram. ‘The Grand Master of my Order must be told – given the theft took place on an Argolian hol
ding it is his responsibility. The Arch Perfect at Strongholm I had not planned on telling, not before Hannequin anyway, but I see now that I have little choice in the matter if we’re to have any chance of reaching the Grand Master in one piece. His High Holiness will certainly not part with what I must ask him to if he does not know the full reason behind my request.’
‘And the King?’ inquired the High Commander testily. ‘The ruler of this realm, where this “Argolian holding” as you put it is situated, to whom you owe your allegiance as a loyal subject? Had you planned on telling him?’
There was a gleam in the prince’s eye that only a foolish man would not have considered dangerous.
‘Not initially,’ admitted Horskram with a sigh. ‘As I keep trying to tell you, my original plan was to get to Rima as quickly as possible, alert the Grand Master, and then confer with him as to what to do next. Hannequin is wise and influential – I imagine he will quietly inform the monarchs of all the Free Kingdoms and the most important barons in Vorstlund, not least the Jarl of Graukolos if we haven’t told him already by then. The Supreme Perfect of the True Temple in Rima will also need to be informed, though it will pain Hannequin to do so.’
‘I can’t imagine why,’ put in Sir Redrun with a sour sneer. ‘His Supreme Holiness has been looking for an excuse to nullify the Argolian Order since... since the event you so dislike to hear mentioned.’
‘I don’t like hearing it mentioned with good reason,’ returned the adept coldly. ‘And now is not the time or place for debating Temple politics. As I was saying, my intention was never to keep His Majesty in the dark for ever, but you will appreciate the need for due caution. Heavens, we cannot have everyone knowing of this – we don’t even know for sure who is behind it yet!’