Black Cross

by J. P. Ashman

  Too many have died and suffered at my hands already, he thought, taking in the bloody scene on the floor of the barracks and the wounds of the two guards, and it seems they still are…

  ***

  Managing to force down the last of his stale bread and cheese, Biviano looked again at the barracks door, hoping to see Lord Stowold striding through. The door remained closed and Biviano cursed under his breath before taking a swig of his small-beer.

  ‘There, finished,’ he said, looking across to the cleric, Effrin, who'd ordered him to eat and drink like the rest of them. ‘Where’s the pantaloon thief gone?’

  ‘To relieve himself,’ Effrin said.

  Biviano rolled his eyes. ‘Just say piss for once, will ye?’

  ‘Piss.’

  Biviano grinned. ‘There, wasn’t so hard now was it?’

  Effrin laughed and then nodded towards the door at the end of the barracks, which opened, causing Biviano to jump to his feet.

  Bollingham walked in and Biviano swore, before turning and kicking his bed.

  ‘Kicking yer bed again?’ Bollingham said, as he reached and dropped onto his own.

  ‘Sod off, Bolly, I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘Oh, ye’re in a mood alright.’

  As Biviano turned towards Bollingham, a retort almost leaving his lips, the barrack’s door swung open again and a barking voice called all to attention. Biviano spun full circle and stood at the end of his bunk, biting back a smile as he caught Bollingham in the corner of his eye leaping to his feet and doing the same.

  Bagnall Stowold strode into the room with his squire at his side. Both were armoured head to toe, although the squire wore far less than the Earl, whose blued steel plate carried decorative carvings of various battlefield scenes. The squire held Stowold’s open faced bascinet, its riveted-maille aventail draped over his arm as the boy followed a pace behind his lord. Stowold was walking down the barracks briefly inspecting each guardsman he passed, prodding some with the shaft of the war-hammer he carried.

  When he reached Bollingham, he took a double take. ‘Nice pantaloons,’ he said, one eyebrow raised as he looked the man up and down. One of the guardsmen opposite Bollingham winked at him and laughed silently.

  ‘I saw that, Jay Strawn,’ Stowold said. Jay’s mouth hung open as he looked from the back of the constable’s head to the men around him. Several of them shrugged.

  ‘Are we ready, milord?’ Biviano asked, unable to hold off any longer.

  Stowold spun on his heals to face Biviano, and Bollingham sighed with relief.

  ‘Aye, Biviano, we’re ready,’ Stowold said, turning to face the room. ‘Alright lads, I’m sure you’re all aware of the King’s order for the Samorlian Church to cease all activity in the city with regards to its so-called witch hunting.’ Several guardsmen nodded. ‘Alas, it has been brought to my attention that they have not. In fact from all accounts… well, Biviano here,’ Stowold pointed at Biviano with his war-hammer, ‘they’ve been torturing innocents and are currently holding a prisoner, Ellis Frane, who has been tortured by their inquisitors.’

  No one stirred, as all had heard the story.

  ‘It is because of this, that we're to march on the Samorlian Cathedral. Now I understand some of you will follow the Samorlian faith, and so I say this to you…’ He paused, looking around at the eyes of every man before continuing. ‘I couldn’t give Sir Samorl’s hairy cock what you believe right now. Your faith is your own, but these bastards have been doing gods-know-what to whoever they want for however long and right under your damned noses!’ Stowold’s voice rose as he spoke, his maille coif covered head turning as he continued to look everyone in the eye. ‘City Guard, ha! You’ve allowed innocents to be taken from all over the city, from this very district no doubt; to be raped, tortured and butchered in the cathedral that sits in the centre of your district, and I, for one, want revenge if nothing else. What say you all?’

  The guardsmen voiced their anger as one.

  Stowold nodded, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth before he continued. ‘Our main aim is to rescue Ellis Frane from the torture chamber below the cathedral and to arrest any and all witchunters, warrior monks and inquisitors we encounter. As well as this, I want the Grand Prick. He is my main target.

  ‘Now, it's obvious we may receive strong resistance by skilled combatants and I am aware our numbers are depleted of late. Quite frankly, you dogs, I don’t give a putrid rat pup’s arse about those facts. All I require is for you lot to go in there hard and fast. You feel threatened and unable to take anyone alive, you have my support in running the murdering shites through. Do I make myself clear?’

  Again the men shouted their understanding as one, Biviano loudest of them all.

  ‘Excellent, now make your way to the stables, we’re going in mounted,’ Stowold said, to which almost every man cheered, before moving swiftly to the door.

  ‘Not you, Biviano, you’re riding with me,’ Stowold added swiftly. Biviano nodded and glanced to Effrin, who nodded once to him before following the others from the room.

  As they turned to leave, Stowold turned back to Bollingham, who still stood by his bed. ‘Problem, Bollingham?’

  How does he remember all our names? ‘I thought it best someone stayed to guard the barracks, milord, if it’s emptying of men.’

  Stowold looked to Biviano, his eyebrows raised. Biviano snarled at Bollingham, and the constable turned back to the pantaloon wearing guardsman. ‘You do, do you?’

  ‘Aye, milord.’ Bollingham chewed his bottom lip.

  ‘Well, I think it best someone else rides with me, eh Biviano?’

  Smiling wide, Biviano nodded. ‘Oh aye, milord, I think that’s exactly what’s needed.’

  Bollingham closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh, before nodding and voicing his acknowledgement. As Bagnall Stowold laughed and headed for the door, Biviano and his squire in tow, Bollingham moved to follow.

  ‘Ah-ah,’ Stowold said, without turning round, ‘not before you change those ridiculous pantaloons. And be quick about it, man.’

  Biviano smiled all the more.

  ***

  Exley Clewarth had successfully taken the outer barracks of Tyndurris, and although the three guards in that room had fought well, his prisoners had finally outnumbered them, leaving his witchunters and warrior monks – his rearguard – completely unharmed.

  Despite the good fortune, the Witchunter General had snarled when a strange horn sounded twice from behind the locked door to the inner barracks, of which several prisoners had been pounding on with shovels and picks. Within seconds of the horn being blown, two more of the guild’s men-at-arms had come clattering down the stairs to be struck down by the two warrior monks positioned either side of the stairwell. Those two monks had fallen almost immediately after, as a battle mage seemed to float down the stairs at such a speed the monks had been given no time to react. The red-robed mage had dispatched them swiftly with a wooden wand which instantly grew as long and sharp as a stiletto, and one of the monks had released a brief, stomach churning scream as the wand plunged into his eye. The mage had then thrown his free hand towards the nearest group of prisoners to him, all of which exploded in a ball of fire. As quickly as the fire had engulfed them, it had dissipated, leaving naught but ash on the stone floor.

  Exley had shouted for crossbows then, and several had been loosed at the red-robed mage, who'd managed to leap back into the stairwell in time to avoid being struck, but not before he’d released another fireball.

  At that very moment, the prisoners at the door had smash through to the room beyond.

  The fireball had engulfed a prisoner in front of Exley as he’d given the order for the rest to charge the stairwell. The Witchunter General had been more than surprised when the prisoners had obeyed, and so he'd taken that opportunity to run for the lower stairwell, barrelling down and taking Egan Dundaven and two more witchunters with him. A warrior monk had followed them down and all of t
hem had landed in a great heap of waving arms and kicking legs whilst renewed fighting had been heard above.

  Exley had been pulled to his feet immediately, and ordered the guarding of the stairwell door at the same time, which had been slammed shut by Egan. Exley had then barred the door and ordered all of his men with crossbows to aim for it, telling them to fire only when they saw a target, to aim true and to make sure, ‘It’s that bloody mage in red!’

  It had all seemed like a rushed blur to Egan, and as Exley had slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, kicking a prisoner who came too close, Egan had asked his General what their next move would be. The look he’d received had told him the Witchunter General wasn’t in the mood to answer questions.

  Exley sat for what seemed like an age after the sounds of fighting above them faded, trying to think of a way to rectify the problem when, without warning, a hollow image of that same red-robed mage fell through the ceiling to stand in the centre of the room. One of the witchunters instinctively pulled the trigger on his crossbow, sending the bolt through the flickering image and into the leg of a prisoner who dropped to the floor screaming. Everyone jumped except Exley, who raised his head and released a long sigh as he looked upon the image that now turned to him.

  ‘Take him in the back and sort that leg out,’ the witchunter who'd shot the prisoner said, and two others followed the order without question, dragging the crying man into middle chamber of the treasury where the charred corpses of those who fell to the sorceress’ conjured fire drake still lay.

  ‘Who is in charge?’ the broken, crackled voice of the red mage’s image boomed.

  Exley stood.

  The image frowned at the Witchunter General. ‘What is your business here Samorlian? You have broken the King’s law entering this tower by force and we must ask you to surrender, although I’d much prefer it if you didn’t, so I could finish you myself.’

  Exley laughed and rested his hand on his rapier’s hilt. ‘I am here for the gnome called Orix. He is a traitor to Altoln for his dealings with arcane magic and must be dealt with accordingly. Hand him over and we shall leave. A simple deal I think. No more trouble for the life of a traitor?’

  The red-robed mage glared at Exley and eventually shook his head. ‘We do not bargain with those who assault our guild and home. You are criminals and will be tried by the King and his magistrates. It is not for you, Samorlian, to decide who is guilty and who is not; who should be executed and who shall not.’ The battle mage was clearly furious and his image shivered, almost blinking out as his rage boiled within him.

  ‘You have a wonderful collection in the vaults down here, mage… it would be a shame to see it all burn, that which doesn’t fall into the hands of the gangs of Dockside that is.’ Exley turned and winked at the few remaining prisoners. They looked from Exley to each other, grinning and rubbing their hands together in anticipation.

  ‘Do not threaten me, witcher!’ the mage’s image shouted. ‘I won’t have it, not in my home. You will not—’

  The image flickered as the mage was interrupted by another, fainter voice to his side, and when he continued, his voice was barely audible as he spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Master Orix asks you not to touch the relics in that vault. He said he values them far more than his own life, and so he wishes to speak with you alone in the stairwell between these two rooms.’

  Silence followed, broken only by the occasional whimper coming from the middle chamber of the treasury where the prisoner with the crossbow bolt in his leg was being treated.

  Eventually, after Exley looked to Egan and his other companions, he answered. ‘Very well, you will send the gnome onto the stairs where he will knock on this chamber’s door. I will then wait a random length of time before opening the door. Any tricks and whoever is stood on the stairs, the gnome or not, will die.’

  The battle mage snarled. ‘You are to come unarmed.’

  Exley laughed. ‘You think me a fool? No, I don’t suppose you do, you’re too intelligent to be ignorant enough to think a Witchunter General a fool, so I will take off my rapier, put down my crossbow and hide a knife, as always, somewhere on my person, just as you would expect of me, just as your gnome will no doubt do as well.’ He grinned at the flickering image then, as the battle mage’s face turned almost puce with rage. The mage looked to the side and closed his eyes for a brief moment, before nodding his agreement.

  The image disappeared.

  ***

  A not too displeasing tune was being plucked on the strings of a lute, as two children stood opposite the man playing the instrument. Poi Son glanced up at the filthy boys, one eyebrow raised, as he stopped playing and placed the instrument on his lap.

  ‘You are sure it was Longoss?’

  ‘Aye, Master Son,’ the taller of the two boys said, both of whom had recently been playing in the gutter of a street in Dockside, ‘big man, with gold teeth.’

  Poi Son ground his own teeth as he looked across to a wiry man stood in the corner of the room. The man swallowed hard and averted his gaze.

  ‘And you say he bested them both, at the same time?’ Both boys nodded. ‘But they’re still alive?’

  ‘Aye, Master Son, but in a bad way,’ the boy who’d spoken before said. The other nodded his agreement.

  ‘Elaborate,’ Poi Son said. When the boys looked to each other, confused, the Black Guild master added, ‘Explain what he did to them.’

  ‘Oh…’ The taller boy’s eyes showed his fear as he thought back to what he’d witnessed. ‘After the fight proper, he sliced up the lady… mainly her legs and face, and then moved to the white mask man.’ The boy paused, looking to his friend and wringing his hands together.

  ‘Go on.’ Poi Son began plucking the strings of his lute again.

  ‘Well,’ the taller boy continued, ‘he took the man’s eyes, from in the mask see, and then…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He cut off his willy,’ the boy said. His friend smiled before the memory of it returned and a disturbed look crossed his face.

  ‘I see,’ Poi Son said, looking again to the man stood in the corner, then back to the boys. ‘Where are my assassins now?’

  ‘We ran and got help from older watchers, Master Son, and they took the man and woman to a safe-house nearby, where they said they’d tend to ’em.’

  Poi Son was nodding as the boy spoke. ‘Very well, you’ve done well bringing this to me, very well.’ The boys smiled at each other and beamed all the more when the man in the corner stepped forward and handed them a small bag of food each. ‘Now off with you,’ Poi Son said, ‘and don’t be speaking of this, understood?’ Both boys nodded and the fear in their eyes told Poi Son enough to know they’d keep it to themselves, after all, it wasn’t the first time they’d acted as watchers for him and they knew the rewards, as well as the risks should they fail.

  After they left the room, Poi Son turned to the man in the corner, eyebrows raised.

  The man stepped forward. ‘Do you want them taken care of, Master Son?’

  ‘The boys?’

  The man shook his head. ‘No, sire, Blanck and Terrina. For failing?’

  Poi Son pursed his lips and thought for a moment before replying. ‘You think you’d have done better against him, Pangan?’

  ‘I never said that, but then again, I haven’t taken him as a mark, have I?’

  ‘No, you haven’t, have you, despite most of the remaining guild members that aren’t dead or dying from this damned plague taking it on. Why is that?’

  ‘Because I’m no fool,’ Pangan said flatly.

  Poi Son laughed. ‘And the siblings were?’

  Pangan tilted his head, considering his answer. ‘Not necessarily, but as good as they were alone, or together, they were a distraction to one another and Longoss knew that, because he knew them. He knows all of us, for Samorl’s sake! All that matter anyway, so we have no advantage over him.’

  Nodding, Poi Son plucked away some more at his lute, be
fore looking back to the man. ‘I don’t want any more public displays like today, do you hear me, Pangan? I stressed how important this mark is to the guild and those two idiots went at Longoss in broad daylight, which is exactly what we don’t need right now.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Is it? I’m not so sure, but I want it understood and I want Longoss and his companions silencing. I certainly don’t want them leaving Dockside, that’s for sure. What’s your opinion on how to handle it?’

  Rubbing his unshaven chin, Pangan looked past Poi Son. ‘Numbers,’ he said, finally. ‘Longoss knows us all as individuals too well and going at him one or two at a time, despite his word not to kill, won’t cut it. We need to hit him in force, especially if he has assistance.’

  ‘Very well,’ Poi Son said, nodding. ‘Make it so and deal with the siblings too.’

  ‘You want them both dead?’

  After a moment’s pause, Poi Son shook his head. ‘Not both, just Blanck. He’s useless to us without his eyes, but his sister once recovered will be more useful than ever.’

  Smiling at Poi Son’s reasoning, Pangan nodded, turned and left the room.

  Poi Son sighed heavily and drew a scroll from the drawer in his desk. He read it for the umpteenth time and then considered the offer from the Assassins Guild in Eatri.

  ‘If things carry on like this,’ he whispered to himself, his eyes pouring over the scroll in front of him, ‘I may have to take their offer of service after all.’

  ***

  Fields gave way to various copses of trees by the winding River Norln, thickening in places to form small woods as the rough cart path wound through and under a mix of oak, birch, ash and beech trees, to name but a few.

  Errolas felt extremely relaxed around the trees. Although he almost always seemed relaxed to the humans, the last few days had left him feeling genuinely concerned and almost anxious for a number of reasons. The open spaces and the abundance of life about him now, however, helped strip those feelings away and add perspective to it all. Is it the lifestyle of the humans that have brought me so low? I cannot be sure, a lot has happened and a lot leaves me unsure about the near future. But out here, out here, I can feel like an elf again.