Black Cross

by J. P. Ashman

  ‘Oh, Elleth,’ Coppin said. She started to cry all the more.

  ***

  ‘There’s no way in bar a full-frontal assault, General,’ Egan Dundaven explained. His reconnaissance role on Tyndurris for the southern Witchunter General was a blessing after his failed attempt to execute an infected citizen a few days before. The anger of Wesson’s Witchunter General, Horler Comlay, had convinced Egan he was going to be stripped of his position and banished to some far off monastery in the Chapparro Mountains. Exley Clewarth, however, was much more understanding, if not any less ruthless than his Wesson counterpart, and demanded the return of Egan Dundaven to his ranks since he was, after all, one of his men. Egan thanked Sir Samorl again for the opportunity to prove himself to the Witchunter General who'd vouched for him and saved him the humiliation of being stripped of his rank; a rank he'd fought hard to earn during a decade of dedication to the order.

  It was understandable then, that when Exley Clewarth frowned at the news Egan presented him, the witchunter’s stomach churned as he realised his opportunity may have slipped away before his very eyes with another failure.

  ‘You are certain, Master Dundaven, that there is no other way into Tyndurris other than a full-frontal assault… against mages backed up by experienced men-at-arms?’ Exley tapped his fingers on the railing he leant against as he waited for the witchunter’s response.

  They were in a shadow filled alley three blocks from Tyndurris, and Exley, although seemingly alone, was surrounded by witchunters and warrior monks, all hidden by the evening shadows.

  Egan hesitated before answering. Searching his mind for an answer other than the one he knew his General would not appreciate, he finally replied. ‘General, I have watched Tyndurris from rooftops on every angle during the day. I have travelled around the walls of Tyndurris looking for back gates, doors or weakened stones in the wall. I have dressed as a beggar and in that guise I have approached the iron gate to check the locking mechanism, and after all that, as well as questioning our two men on the inside, I have found no way into Tyndurris that does not result in us being seen. It is heavily guarded and patrolled by soldiers and dogs, as well as magic. If we are not seen, we will be detected by the dogs or some form of magic, I am sure. I see no other way in.’

  Exley snorted at the explanation and Egan’s heart sank and his stomach lurched.

  ‘Very well, Master Dundaven,’ Exley said, his tone far lighter than could have been expected. ‘I appreciate your thoroughness in the reconnaissance of the tower and its surroundings.’ Egan relaxed visibly and the Witchunter General hardly managed to keep the amusement from his face as he went on. ‘It is fortunate for us that we have found another way to enter Tyndurris and access the gnome, without resorting to a disastrous overt assault on the outside of the building.’

  Egan’s confusion showed as plain as day, so the General let the awkward pause drag out a few seconds longer, wondering if the witchunter had the courage to ask how and from whom they'd found such information. When Egan continued to look shocked yet intrigued, but failed to ask, Exley continued.

  ‘If you were wondering how we came by this information, Master Dundaven,’ Exley teased, causing Egan to wince in the realisation he should have had the courage to ask, ‘we recently requested the company of a palace aid, one who has worked as a royal scribe for well over twenty years. During his current… visit to the cathedral, our lord and master the Grand Inquisitor, along with two of his most talented inquisitors, put the scribe to the question.’

  Egan shifted uncomfortably, knowing full well how the inquisitors put people to the question. It wasn’t a thought he relished and so he pushed it to the back of his mind. He'd fought, killed and burnt arcane magic users and vile creatures many times, yet the thought of torturing an innocent citizen purely for information didn’t sit well with him. He swiftly composed himself under the gaze of his superior and nodded approvingly, or so he hoped, as Exley continued.

  ‘During the questioning, the scribe uttered a riddle of sorts. He'd memorised this riddle from old writings that haven’t been seen for decades… possibly even centuries. He admitted finding this particular writing in the royal library’s archives. Ancient scripts and scrolls are housed in those archives, Master Dundaven, and I am certain the one he spoke of holds clues to help solve our predicament. Understanding it may well lead us to a way into Tyndurris itself.’ Exley grinned wickedly before going on.

  ‘The Grand Inquisitor had the riddle written down, and Inquisitor Makhell handed that writing to me personally, so we could use it to carry out our mission.’

  ‘Did the scribe not know the meaning, General?’

  Exley laughed heartily at the question. ‘If he did, Master Dundaven, he would have told us. Believe me, the inquisitors stretched their resources to question that man. However, I am sure that between us we can figure it out, do you not think?’

  Egan nodded as he saw the parchment brought forth from a small pouch on Exley’s belt. The Witchunter General unravelled the parchment and read it aloud, his voice barely more than a whisper in the quiet alley.

  Egan’s brow creased as he listened to the words. He prayed he would be the one to solve the riddle and find the way into Tyndurris as he felt, in all honesty to himself, this was his last chance to save his career and maybe even his life.

  Exley read the words effortlessly as if for the thousandth time and Egan knew the Witchunter General had already tried to solve the riddle and failed. His chances were growing with each line Exley read out, as his mind started to find the meaning behind the puzzle of words.

  Few know the true source of His light, its new weakness fewer still

  Stone protects all, it has oft been said; hidden in view of the sea

  Beware the darkness of the ground, through it the light could cease

  We will, all of us on that day, fall to darkness, as it was before

  As long as the source stands tall in its succour, the light will always be

  Best it remains forgotten, unlike the memory of He

  Egan stared at nothing in particular as his eyes flickered, his mind working fast.

  Exley leant forward in anticipation. He'd saved Egan from his Wesson counterpart, who was prepared to strip the man of his rank and banish him to some far-flung place, but Exley knew that where Egan had failed in one area, he would not fail with this.

  Egan Dundaven had been set to be a scholar in Royce until his parents were slaughtered by a crazed warlock. Following that, he'd taken to the Samorlian faith and the witchunters’ order like a vulture to a corpse. Exley Clewarth had always admired the man’s intelligence, and had no doubt Egan would succeed in this task.

  He was right.

  ‘General, I think I have it,’ Egan said finally, the elation clear in his voice.

  ‘Well, Master Dundaven, I have always known you to be a clever man, but I couldn’t have hoped for you to solve it so fast. It seems you have redeemed yourself.’ Exley slapped Egan on the back. ‘Come now my friend, we shan’t discuss the meaning here.’ Exley placed the parchment back in his pouch, fastened it securely and strode off down the alley, a beaming Egan at his back.

  When both men had left the alley, the shadows moved and a dozen black clad witchunters and warrior monks left their covert positions to take up new positions on the streets around Exley and Egan, as they made their way to the Samorlian Cathedral to discuss the riddle and their tactics for using the answers it had revealed.

  Chapter 24: The Pathfinders Cave

  Smoke, dust, blood and a number of other unsavoury smells thickened the air of the dimly lit chamber. Biviano sat on a bench opposite the tortured man – who'd yet to awaken. His skin had been cleaned and he was now wearing some blood-stained rags Biviano had found on a table, as well as Sears’ padded gambeson for warmth.

  ‘How long ye reckon we’ve been here?’

  ‘Dunno, Sears,’ Biviano said, as he rubbed his face with one hand and spun his kettle-helm that sat be
side him with the other.

  ‘I’m starved.’

  ‘Well, think how he feels.’ Biviano nodded towards the torture victim, who looked like a child in Sears’ large gambeson.

  ‘I’m trying not to, ye dick, it’ll set me off again.’

  ‘Aye, there is that.’

  Sears was hidden in the darkness of one of the chamber’s corners, where he’d been for quite some time.

  ‘Ye think they’re waiting for us to fall asleep?’

  ‘Sears, I have no idea mate, so stop asking what I think they’re thinking or planning or doing, will ye?’

  The darkened corner growled. Biviano sighed.

  ‘Well stop spinnin’ yer damned helmet then if ye want me to stop asking ye questions.’

  Biviano spun it all the more, but before Sears responded, the torture victim stirred with a cough.

  ‘Sears, water, now!’ Biviano left his helmet and rushed to the man. Sears emerged from the corner and moved swiftly to the barrel of water next to the rack – which they’d pulled flat like a bed so the man could lay properly.

  Biviano stood over the man as Sears passed him a small cup of water, which he held to the man’s cracked lips, carefully pouring it into his open mouth.

  ‘Not too much,’ Sears said.

  ‘I know, I know.’

  Suddenly, the man went rigid and his eyes opened wide, looking from Biviano to Sears and back.

  ‘It’s alright, sir, we’re guardsmen,’ Biviano said, but the man still looked petrified.

  Biviano pointed to his chest then, which displayed the coat-of-arms of the City Guard. The man visibly relaxed, albeit slightly. He tried to talk, but coughed instead.

  Once the coughing passed, Biviano pressed the water to the man’s lips again.

  ‘Take yer time,’ Sears said quietly, ‘there’s no rush.’

  The man nodded slowly as he gulped at the water, the cup draining quickly.

  ‘Not too fast, sir,’ Biviano said, passing the empty cup to Sears, who refilled it and passed it back. The man coughed again and winced at the following pain. He sat up then and rubbed at his wrists, his face creasing up with every movement.

  ‘Take yer time, sir, like Sears says. Ye been through hell and no mistake, but we’ll get ye out of here and that’s me word.’

  Looking up into Biviano’s eyes, the man nodded slowly again and accepted the cup of water offered to him. He slowly brought it up to his lips and began to sip at the water, his eyes moving between the two guardsmen as he did so.

  ‘In yer own time, tell us yer name, friend. Mine’s Sears and this is Biviano.’

  Biviano waved at the man and then reddened as Sears looked at him as if he was stupid.

  Finishing the cup of water, the man finally spoke in a horse voice. ‘Frane, Ellis Frane. I’m a royal scribe at the palace,’ he said, managing a weak smile.

  ‘Well Ellis Frane,’ Biviano said, smiling back at the man, ‘me and Sears here’ll get ye outta this shit-hole soon enough, and ye’re going to be just fine.’

  Ellis Frane nodded and smiled again, before filling the two men in on what the inquisitors had done to him.

  When he finished, Biviano told Ellis Frane to get some more rest. The man didn’t take long to fall asleep. It was only then that Sears fully let what he'd been told sink in; it was Biviano’s words alone that calmed Sears enough to allow him to return to his dark corner without tearing the chamber apart.

  ***

  The tunnel extended into darkness whenever the light of the star stone didn’t shine down it. The group had been travelling for a long time, although Fal had no idea how long exactly. All he'd been doing since the knockers attacked was concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. He was glad when Correia stopped to talk to Errolas. She held the star stone cupped in her hands, both her and Errolas’ faces illuminated eerily in the dimmed light, their hushed tones drifting back to the men behind them.

  ‘What’s she saying?’ Sav whispered, whilst Starks turned, crouched and again aimed his crossbow back up the slight gradient of the tunnel they'd travelled down.

  ‘I can’t make it out,’ Fal said, whilst bending forward and resting his hands on his knees. ‘It’s quite clear it’s not for our ears though.’ His head still ached from Execution Square, and his lungs burnt along with his thighs, but he knew they would be pushing on again soon and so did his best to make the most of the short reprieve.

  The Spymaster had stopped every so often to talk to Errolas, and Fal had failed to hear any of what had been said. He'd asked once, but had given up after receiving a deadly look from the hard-faced woman, and so it genuinely surprised both Fal and Sav when she suddenly turned and motioned for them to approach.

  Both men looked at each other in anticipation before walking up to Correia and Errolas, leaving Starks as rearguard.

  ‘Ready to tell us your little secrets now are we?’ Sav asked, moving forward and smiling wryly.

  Correia quickly reached out and thumped Sav on the elbow he’d banged in the cavern.

  Sav grunted, grabbed his arm and stepped back.

  ‘You can go back and stand guard with the lad for that,’ Correia said calmly, not a trace of amusement on her face.

  Sav looked to Errolas for support, but the elf just shrugged. Cursing to himself, the tall scout plodded sulkily back to Starks’ position. Once there, he mumbled something to Starks, drew the crossbowman’s short-sword, and took up the defensive position they'd assumed every time the group had stopped since the cavern.

  ‘Sergeant Falchion, we’ll soon be meeting up with some of my men; pathfinders, who have both you and your scout’s weapons.’

  Fal looked both relieved and confused at the same time, but when he attempted to ask the Spymaster how her pathfinders had his and Sav’s weapons, he was silenced by the same look she had used on him before. Fal held his tongue and merely hoped for more information.

  ‘At the end of this tunnel,’ Correia explained, ‘is a sharp bend to the left, which opens out into a coastal cave. That's where my pathfinders will be. They left the prison with your weapons shortly before we rescued you and were ordered to wait for us there.’

  ‘Why there?’ Fal managed to ask.

  ‘Why there and not the cavern?’ Correia said, elaborating on Fal’s question.

  ‘Yes, why not the cavern where we first stopped?’

  ‘The cave we are about to enter is used only by the King’s special forces, and is a highly guarded secret. If you were to show up there unannounced, then whoever’s in there wouldn’t think twice about gutting you before you could say ’morl’s balls. Therefore, I sent ahead with your weapons a small pathfinder group as an advanced warning of our arrival. The men I sent are well known in the cave and bay surrounding it. They will have no problem entering and announcing our following arrival, should there be other forces operating in the area.’

  Fal merely nodded as he took in the information thrown at him. It was not hard to believe the King had forces operating secretly, but Fal hardly thought he would ever hear anything factual about them, let alone meet some of them and maybe even, if this mission they were on was as serious as Fal thought it must be, work alongside them.

  Correia’s attention was drawn to Sav as the scout looked back to the group, then leaned down and whispered something to Starks. The two men laughed at whatever it was Sav had said.

  The Spymaster rolled her eyes, sighed heavily and turned back to Fal. ‘Even with me leading your group, sergeant, I would appreciate it if you told your men back there to keep their mouths buttoned as we approach and enter the cave. The only one doing any talking shall be me, understood?’

  Fal nodded. ‘Yes ma’m.’

  ‘Very good, now go back, inform them two and then follow us in.’ Correia looked to Errolas who nodded his understanding, and the two slowly made their way down the tunnel once more. Fal quietly called for Sav and Starks to follow and whispered a brief explanation as they headed towards the e
nd of the damp tunnel.

  The rock wall finally curved to the left after several minutes, and its glistening surface reflected orange as it gave away the setting of the sun. A fresh sea breeze hit the group as they reached the end of the tunnel, and Correia shouted out to announce their arrival.

  Nothing…

  Correia shouted a second time and a man shouted out, clearly in distress.

  A shriek like nothing any of them had ever heard before followed, resonating off the tunnel’s walls. Correia looked back at the group and Fal saw she was as equally shocked as the rest of them. Even Errolas seemed confused at what they'd just heard.

  ‘Pathfinders on me!’ a man hidden just around the corner shouted, and almost immediately afterwards, a bloodied soldier in a dark green gambeson stumbled around the bend and into the tunnel, clutching his right arm. He looked startled when he saw the group, until he recognised Correia, who dashed to his side.

  ‘Mearson, what’s happening?’ she demanded.

  Before she received an answer, the shriek ripped through the tunnel again. Errolas doubled over, his hands either side of his head.

  Two more soldiers wearing dark green ran into the tunnel then, and one raised a yew bow before hearing Correia cry out an order to stay his weapon. The two men quickly took in the group, their eyes settling a moment longer on the elf doubled over before them. Fal rushed to Errolas’ side and tried to help cover his friend’s ears.

  The sound erupted again and Errolas dropped to his knees, his sensitive ears taking in even more of the painful din than the humans around him.

  Correia threw the star stone to Fal as he crouched by the elf, who was now rocking back and forth on the wet floor. The Spymaster drew her slender swords and turned back towards the cave and her men. ‘Explain?’

  ‘I don’t know, ma’m?’ the man with the bow said. ‘Like nothing I’ve seen or heard of before; it came from the sea. The Norlechlan’s been testing her guns out in the bay with two carracks as escort.’