Black Cross

by J. P. Ashman

  ‘If they wanted that, sire, why did they not just tell me the King was the mark? Why not tell me and let me walk out of Dockside?’

  ‘If it was that easy, would you’ve believed it?’

  ‘It was Buddle who sniffed it out. I fought assassins, all three of us did before Gitsham and Buddle arrived, damn, we near never made it out and Longoss wounded them all—’

  ‘But didn’t kill them?’

  ‘No, he swore never to kill again. He did all he could without breaking his word.’

  Morton laughed knowingly, for reasons Sears couldn’t understand. ‘This rot gets better.’

  ‘Listen to me!’ Sears shouted, becoming animated at the same time. Morton took a step back and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. Both Gitsham and Buddle jumped awake. ‘I might as well have gone through The Three in there along with that girl and Longoss! We ran, we hid, we crawled through fucking sewers and fought numerous bastards to bring ye this information! They killed Longoss’ love and they near damned killed us too! If it weren’t for Gitsham and Buddle here, I’d still be hiding or dead and none of us would know who the damned guild’s mark was, they certainly didn’t tell me! The only reason we got out—’ Sears pointed to Buddle, Gitsham and himself, ‘—was because Biviano and Lord Stowold came for us in force—’

  ‘And who’d you think authorised that, you dumb bastard?’ Morton’s eyes locked on Sears.

  Stunned, Sears closed his mouth and glanced sideways to Gitsham, who made a point of not looking at the big man. Ye could’ve told me that before I went off on one at a pissin’ Duke, ye shit, Sears thought, knowing Gitsham had known that fact by the lack of eye contact.

  ‘Sire—’

  ‘Sire nothing, Sears,’ Morton said, hands on hips and a wry smile spreading across his lined face. ‘I had to know you were serious, because news like this is serious business. I can’t just take it in easily and not probe. Anger brings out all sorts, including the truth often enough.

  ‘The King though… ’morl’s reeking corpse Sears, I never thought that, not the most bloody benevolent ruler we’ll ever see.’ He looked back up into the red bearded face of Sears and sighed long and hard. ‘You’ve done well soldier, damned well and the King will hear of your efforts, mark my words.’ Should the stubborn old coot survive long enough…

  Sears was still stunned and a little confused. Was all that really necessary? Flay me but these nobles aren’t right in the head.

  ‘There’s going to be a lot of planning to do now, to work out how best to combat this news, and that’s whilst we’re still trying to figure out this plague and all the shit it’s stirred up.’ Morton rubbed at his bristled chin and began to pace again.

  ‘Can we not just assault the Black Guild, milord? They’ve taken heavy losses—’

  ‘From you and your new friends?’ Morton asked. Sears didn’t know if the Lord High Constable was being sarcastic or not, but answered seriously anyway.

  ‘Aye, a little,’ Sears said, nodding, ‘but mainly because of the plague, sire. As have the gangs around Dockside. We might’ve fought like demons and believe me, sire, we did, but there’s no damned way I’d be stood here now if this had happened a couple of weeks ago.’

  Morton continued pacing, although he’d nodded at Sears’ answer. ‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘we can’t assault them, as much as I’d like to. We don’t know where the bloody guild is for starters.’ Stopping suddenly, he turned to Sears. ‘The assassin, Longoss, you didn’t bring him in did you?’

  ‘No, milord,’ Sears said, unsure as to the Duke’s motives for wanting the former assassin beyond asking him where the guild is. Why didn’t I ask him that? Sears silently cursed himself.

  ‘Shame,’ Morton said, almost to himself, ‘could’ve done with questioning him…’ He trailed off as he headed to the far door of the sparring chamber.

  Sears, Gitsham and Buddle all tracked the Duke until he reached the far door and opened it. Before he walked through, he turned to all three and nodded. ‘Good work lads, now back to your business,’ he said, before leaving the room.

  ‘Well shaft me sideways, what the hell was all that? It was hardly necessary,’ Sears said, turning to Gitsham to find him sleep standing again. Looking across to Buddle, he could have sworn he saw the bloodhound shrug.

  Chapter 45: Return To Wesson

  Several thick plumes of black smoke rose into the cloud-filled afternoon sky and drifted lazily across the city. The temperature had dropped slightly and the air felt damp with anticipated rain as the column of horses and carts trundled towards the coast. Wesson’s walls looked dull and foreboding as the smoke rose behind them. The banners on the large eastern gatehouse hung limp in the cool breeze that gently ushered the forming clouds in from the sea.

  The roads to and from the small bridge across the River Norln to the south of Beresford – the only passable place for miles around without going through the contested town itself – had been empty of merchants, farmers and travellers in general. The elf council had sent clerics, mages and warriors to aid King Barrison, yet no one gathered to watch the elves pass. Correia and Severun largely keeping to themselves along the journey, and everyone else remained similarly quiet, thinking about what awaited them in Wesson. Lord Nelem and Errolas had also accompanied the group at their own request, as did Lord Errwin-Roe, who was eager to speak to King Barrison, a man he claimed he'd not seen since the reign of Barrison’s father. But even their presence hadn’t lightened the mood of the travellers along the way.

  Beresford, Fal thought heavily, eyeing the columns of smoke rising high from the walls of Wesson before him. Does the town still stand? Even if the goblins pulled back from the west side of the town, they could’ve continued on through farms and villages with little to no resistance. Is that why the roads have been so quiet… or has the plague escaped the city’s quarantine? Fal grimaced at the thought of either outcome.

  ‘There she is,’ Sav said, unwittingly wrenching Fal from his thoughts as he pulled his horse alongside and nodded to the city. ‘She doesn’t look too clever, Fal. I’m not looking forward to walking through her gates.’

  Fal shook his head but didn’t answer, instead, he nudged his horse forward again and the group followed, the elf contingent with their carts bringing up the rear.

  They walked their horses down a slight decline, following the stone road leading to the eastern gatehouse of the capital city, untended fields stretching out to either side.

  Fal took in the empty ridge and furrowed fields. The farmers are too scared to come close… or worse.

  He fingered the hilt of his trusty falchion, a weapon re-sharpened and oiled by the elves of the Middle Wood. It had been a wonderful surprise to hear what the skilled rune-smiths had said when presenting the group’s weapons back to them. His mind easily slipped back to the dreamlike Middle Wood as he thought about the events that day. He wanted to escape his surroundings and think upon it one last time before Wesson revealed its potential horrors.

  ***

  Along with Sav, Starks and Gleave, Fal felt honoured to be attending a training session hosted by the council guards who'd been their escorts whilst in the great oak. The skill, speed and strength presented by the council guards were truly awesome as they sparred with one another in front of their human guests. As they moved, their weapons seemed to shimmer, whilst others glowed like the depths of a roaring fire. After an impressive series of routines, the elves encouraged the humans to try out their own returned weapons, to see what they thought of the work the rune-smiths had carried out.

  As Fal, Starks and Gleave looked on, Sav eagerly stepped forward and drew his returned bow. He grimaced due to his injured shoulder as he pulled the cord back. Fal told him he should wait until he was well, but Sav insisted he had to try out his returned weapon.

  The scout stood almost completely side-on to the target at the end of the range, a range of almost four hundred yards. He shook his head slightly at the impossible distance, k
nowing a war bow would struggle to make the range, let along his hunting bow. He shifted his weight forward onto his front facing left foot, determined to see what the rune-smith had done to his prized possession.

  At the same time as shifting his weight forward, Sav pushed with his left hand which gripped the now rune carved bow-stave, whilst drawing with his right hand’s index and middle fingers on the hemp string until the back of his thumb was resting comfortably on his right cheek. He took a deep breath and blocked out the pain. Almost as soon as his hand had reached the side of his face, he slowly let out his breath and relaxed his fingers, releasing the string and its carefully selected arrow.

  The arrow sprung elegantly from the yew bow and flew straight, hardly faltering as it cruised towards the seemingly impossible target, turning ever so slowly as it did so, which was to be expected due to the arrow’s goose feather flights.

  As the arrow reached the point where Sav expected it to dip, bringing it down into the long grass of the archery range, the scout’s face lit up. The arrow continued straight and level, turning once more before connecting with the centre of the target buttress and releasing a loud thud that reached the humans’ ears a brief moment after the arrow’s impact. The elves, of course, had heard it a split second before the humans, and had already turned to congratulate Sav, increasing his elation.

  Sav turned to Fal first, a smug look upon his face and then to the rest of them, kissing his bow and cheering along with the growing crowd of onlookers.

  ‘You required the bow to reach the distant target and with your will, skill and strength all working together, the bow obeyed,’ the rune-smith bowyer explained. ‘Should you require an angled shot, within reason of course, then the bow should obey those silent commands too. Try it,’ he urged, motioning to an angled target about one hundred and fifty yards away and facing off to the left. Sav looked sceptical, before recalling the elf archers he and the others had witnessed training in this very technique the day of their arrival.

  If this works, I think I’ll actually cry.

  Sav drew another broad-headed arrow from his quiver.

  ‘Just imagine the arrow striking the centre of the target,’ a female archer said in her sing song voice. ‘It takes some getting used to, but…’

  Sav loosed. The arrow seemed to briefly head in the same direction the front of the target was facing, before arcing rapidly and thumping into the upper left hand side of the buttress. Sav whooped and the others laughed.

  ‘I love it!’ he cried, and the elven children who'd gathered around his feet giggled and cheered. ‘Thank you so much,’ he said to the rune-smith bowyer, ‘I don’t know how I can repay you?’

  The elf laughed and waved the comment away. ‘Use it against our enemies. We are allies and friends I hope, and I know you will use it wisely.’ The elf bowed before stepping back so Starks could move forward. His crossbow had been beautifully carved down each side of its stock and now had what looked like a gold laced string. He had also been presented with a quiver of heavy looking bolts, of which he'd been told to use wisely and sparingly, although the elf who'd presented them to him had encouraged him to use one. He claimed it was so Starks could truly see what they were like, as words would do them an injustice, but Fal thought it was because the elf wanted everyone to see his craftsmanship, and why not?

  Leiina clapped her hands excitedly and blew Starks a kiss, much to the amusement of most and envy of Sav.

  Starks knelt and spanned his crossbow with such ease his face dropped slightly. They’ve reduced the draw weight?

  He imagined the probable lack of power such an easily drawn cord would offer, but fitted one of the heavy looking bronze tipped bolts none the less. His eyes widened and a smile pulled at the side of his mouth as he looked upon the rune engravings along the bolt’s shaft. Lifting the crossbow so the stock was resting on his shoulder, Starks looked down the weapon, levelling it towards a target half way down the range; doubting the new string’s effectiveness.

  Fingers resting on top of the stock, he pressed up on the cold metal trigger under the weapon with his thumb and the bolt seemed to lurch from the string, dipping slightly before taking off at a tremendous speed towards the target. A fraction of a second before it reached the straw buttress the bolt exploded into a ball of orange flames which engulfed the target, reducing it to ashes in seconds before dissipating into nothing more than a cloud of white smoke.

  Sav burst out laughing and looked in astonishment to the elf who'd worked on the crossbow. The elf nodded, smiled and motioned for Fal and Gleave to step forward.

  Starks had to be moved out of the way as he stared, mouth open at the destroyed target ahead of the group, but he soon composed himself again as the red haired elf maiden bounded into his arms once more.

  Both Fal and Gleave drew their weapons and hefted them, feeling the weight in their hands and trying to work out if there was any difference to their weapons’ balance. Gleave stood with one hand on a crutch, his injured leg splinted, and he bobbed his hand axe up and down in his free hand whilst Fal sliced his falchion through the air.

  Two of the armoured council guards stepped forward, their curved swords held high in defensive positions. Fal looked to Gleave, confused as to what they were supposed to do.

  ‘Just try a simple dodge, Sergeant Falchion, when they attack you,’ Fal’s rune-smith said, and so he nodded his accord.

  The two elves switched stances and came on as one, moving swiftly at Fal. They came from two directions and he failed to see how he could dodge without parrying a blow, but he tried all the same, assuming hopefully they would pull their blows should he fail. As he shifted his weight and lurched to his left, attempting to leave the reach of one elf and pass dangerously across the front of the other, he found himself where he'd wanted to be before the closest elf had reacted.

  That same elf ended up stumbling past Fal and looking round at him in surprise. The elf looked slightly embarrassed then, but joined in when his comrades erupted in a hearty laugh at his expense.

  And here I was thinking they’d be far faster… are they playing with me?

  ‘That was your leather armour, sergeant,’ the rune-smith said, his green eyes sparkling. ‘We decided on improving that instead of your weapon, I hope you do not mind? I assumed you hadn’t seen the subtle markings I added to the inside of your greaves and vambraces, so thought I wouldn’t tell you until you tried them for yourself.’

  Fal was thankful but shocked. I don’t recall them even taking my armour? Well, I’m certainly not going to complain.

  ‘So I can move much faster in this armour?’ he asked, slightly confused.

  ‘Oh no, sergeant, not at all, your armour, or rather the runes I placed upon your armour are illusion runes that simply leave a slight image of you as you move. Therefore your attacker mistakes your movement, fails to anticipate it correctly and gives you a momentary chance to dodge, parry, counter-attack or whatever the situation requires.

  ‘Be careful not to start relying on it, though,’ the rune-smith added, his forefinger held up to mark the warning, ‘but it will certainly prove helpful, I am sure.’ Smiling broadly, the rune-smith bowed low.

  ‘That’s amazing. I’m so very grateful,’ Fal said sincerely, returning the bow. Standing straight again, he looked at the other humans, beaming at them all. They all grinned back at Fal, clearly excited for him as well as themselves.

  ‘Don’t think I’m in a state to try mine out,’ Gleave said eventually, and all around agreed. He looked pale and the injury to his leg, although healing, was clearly taking its toll, especially after his antics at the gathering the night before. ‘I notice fancy runes, though, on the blade.’

  One of the rune-smiths, an old looking elf with silvery hair plaited down to the back of his knees, nodded slowly before walking over to and opening his hand to retrieve the axe. Gleave placed the weapon in the elf’s slender hand and stared, awaiting the revelation of what the weapon could do.

&nb
sp; With a wry smile, the silver haired rune-smith whispered to the weapon which… disappeared.

  Eyebrows raised and eyes wide, Gleave looked from the empty palm of the elf to his companions and back, taking a step – almost stumbling – backwards when he saw the weapon was back in the rune-smith’s hand.

  ‘Where’d it go?’ Sav asked, stepping forward and staring at the weapon.

  ‘Nowhere,’ the elf announced, his smile broadening, ‘you just couldn’t see it, but I could.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Gleave said in amazement. Fal squeezed his eyes shut and Sav stifled a laugh. Several elven intakes of breath later, Gleave quickly apologized and explained he’d meant it as an exclamation of excitement, not as an insult. Still unsure, the silver haired rune-smith stepped in close to the now red faced pathfinder and whispered to him the word required to activate the weapon’s runes.

  ‘Even better,’ Gleave said, after the elf explained Gleave would still be able to see it. The large man lifted the axe to his lips and whispered. Again the axe disappeared, but it was clear to all Gleave could still see it in his hand as he waved it about, his eyes not leaving the space above his fist. ‘I can’t say how useful that could be,’ he said, half stunned and still looking at the invisible weapon, which only re-appeared when he willed it to.

  I wonder what they’d have done for Mearson if he were here… Gleave smiled tightly and nodded his thanks to the rune-smith, who nodded in return.

  It had been an exhilarating day and all in the group were overjoyed by their gifts. It was then that Correia re-appeared and so they assaulted her with stories of what they'd been up to, until she announced it was time to leave, which caused a subtle sadness to descend upon them all.

  Although she had received runes on both her swords, Correia was clearly in the same awful mood that had come on after their encounter with Lord Salkeld, and so the other members of the group decided to keep their distance and certainly didn’t asked her what the rune-smiths had done to her weapons, despite all of them wanting to know.