Black Cross

by J. P. Ashman

  I know that look. That’s not a good look, Correia thought, as she shouted for the column to hurry after the already departing knights; Lord Adlestrop at the head of the new column.

  Falling in behind the heavily armoured retinue, every human and elf in the column gazed about at the surrounds and people – for many had already returned, this time looking on in silence at the elves passing through their city.

  After traversing streets filled with black crossed doors and smouldering pyres, a handful of elves including Lord Errwin-Roe, accompanied by Correia, headed off towards the palace whilst the rest entered the heavily guarded and opening gates of Tyndurris.

  The armed and armoured guards opening the gates looked grim, their faces dirty and strained. They perked up a little when they saw the elves, but it was clear it would take much more to lift their spirits after the death and destruction they'd witnessed.

  ‘Sergeant Falchion, we thought you were dead?’ one of the men at the gate said, his face lighting up a little more.

  ‘Dead, Hale, why?’

  ‘After the prison fight, Sarge,’ Hale said, lifting his kettle-helm slightly to take in the healthy looking sergeant. ‘The Castellan and his guards were killed in a fight with Samorlian witchunters, as were many of the inmates. You didn’t know?’

  ‘They assaulted this bloody tower,’ another guard explained, before Fal could answer, ‘through tunnels under Tyndurris itself!’ He was surprised Fal didn’t know. ‘How come you’re riding in with elves anyway, Sarge? That’s pretty impressive in my book.’

  ‘I’ll explain another time, Sedge. Is everyone alright?’ Fal was worried now.

  ‘No, Sarge,’ Sedge said, whilst Hale shook his head solemnly. ‘A few of us didn’t make it, some mages too.’

  Fal shook his head, clearly stunned. He'd never heard of tunnels under Tyndurris. He reeled at the thought of what the Samorlian witchunters had done since the plague had set in. How long have they been waiting to strike this very tower? It doesn’t matter how long; to take advantage of this plague which has killed so many as it is, they were supposed to be our protectors as much as the City Guard and those knights, but they’ve been nothing but the enemy within. And after what I did, releasing this plague… am I any better?

  You were unwittingly involved Falchion, so yes, you are far better than they.

  Fal jumped in his saddle and cast his eyes about, quickly noticing the gaze of the female elf mage, Feliscine, who'd accompanied them. She smiled sympathetically and then turned away, her long golden hair lifting slightly in the breeze.

  A sudden calm despite all he’d seen since entering the city washed over Fal as he looked upon the elf mage. I don’t know if you’ll hear this, Feliscine, but thank you.

  Hale and Sedge looked at each other in confusion, clearly unsure as to why their sergeant had just visibly jumped and then looked to one of the elves, although they both agreed she was incredibly attractive and certainly worth looking at.

  The elven carts were still passing through the gates. They creaked as they rumbled across the courtyard to the stables on the far side of the courtyard, where more of the guild’s men were guiding them.

  Fal climbed down from the fine white elven steed he'd ridden back from Broadleaf Forest, and Sedge held the animal steady – not that it was required, the horse was well trained.

  ‘Tell me about it all when I have announced the elves to the guild council,’ he said to the two guards. ‘Who’s in charge at the moment?’ Fal remembering that Severun was no longer the guild’s Grand Master, nor was he permitted to enter Tyndurris, and so was currently en route to the palace with Correia and the elven lords.

  ‘Lord Strickland is Grand Master now,’ Sedge said, ‘and Master Orix is inside, still working on the cure for the plague.’

  ‘You have a cure?’ Fal said, surprised. The two men nodded eagerly.

  ‘It’s in its basest form apparently; experimental, or something like that?’ Hale said whilst closing the gate behind the last of the column. He offered a half-hearted shrug. ‘Not ready for distribution anyhow. I guess the elves are here to help with that?’

  ‘That’s extremely positive,’ one of the elf clerics who'd overheard the conversation said. ‘The sooner we can see what they have, the sooner we can complete and assist in distributing it.’

  Fal nodded his appreciation and asked Sedge to take his horse to the stable.

  ‘Starks me old mukka,’ Hale shouted, as he noticed the young crossbowman hopping off one of the elven horses. ‘Where the heck have you been?’

  Starks returned his friend’s smile, albeit half-heartedly, his mind still clinging to Leiina and the knot in his stomach that hadn’t left him since he’d left her. As well as that, upon seeing the destruction during their entry and journey through the city, his mind had also been on his family and whether or not any of them still lived.

  ‘He’ll tell you when he’s rested,’ Fal said, knowing the young man was in no mood to talk. ‘Go get some sleep, Starks, and we can discuss everything tonight. I need to get inside with the elves, introduce them to Master Orix and leave them to get everything sorted.’ Fal directed the latter to the gate guards as Starks disappeared quietly into the tower.

  ‘Very well, Sarge,’ Hale said. ‘Speak to you later and glad to have you back.’ He saluted and smiled to Fal, before heading across to his post, his companion leading Fal’s horse away after a friendly salute of his own.

  ‘Thanks, lads,’ Fal shouted, as he made his way over to the elves. Although I’m not sure if I’m glad to be back with Wesson in this state, I hardly recognise the place.

  ‘This way, master cleric,’ Fal said to the lead elf cleric, who followed both him and Sav into the tower, the other clerics and mages in tow. The remaining elves helped the stable hands tend to their horses and supplies, whilst the receding sound of heavy hooves on cobbles announced the departure of Lord Adlestrop’s remaining knights.

  ***

  Further south in the city, a short while later, Correia and a hooded, exhausted but conscious Severun led Errwin-Roe, Nelem, Errolas and two of their elven guards into King Barrison’s Palace, as Lord Adlestrop and his knights moved on to the stables to dismount.

  Adlestrop had attempted to engage Correia in conversation during the journey through the city. Alas, upon seeing the sadness in her face at the destruction and death all about them, he hadn’t pressed her when she didn’t answer.

  Once within the palace, with its huge pillars of marble reaching high to hold up the impressive ceiling, Correia Burr, Spymaster of Altoln, swallowed hard as she heard the news awaiting them.

  King Barrison had contracted the plague and it had taken its hold swiftly. The royal clerics had admitted they were unable to do anything but ease his swiftly approaching death.

  ‘How did it find him in here?’ Correia had demanded, unable to control her anger and confusion. This is why Morton wouldn’t talk or even look at me, coward. ‘And why isn’t Master Orix here?’ she had added, before the clerics could answer the first question.

  They told her the King had insisted on walking the streets to offer comfort to those who were suffering, to tell them his finest clerics were working on a cure and help was on its way. No more than two days later he'd fallen ill and had been forcibly put to bed by Will Morton and two of his knights. The King was stubborn and insisted he should be able to take the throne in his court and hear the pleas of his people. He also wanted to visit Tyndurris after the Samorlian attack and offer his condolences for the mages and guards lost. Will Morton and Hugh Torquill had disagreed, however, and so there the King lay when Correia walked into his chamber. He looked incredibly old and weak to the Spymaster, as if all his years had caught up with him at once.

  ‘My King?’ Correia said quietly, to no response. Softer still, as she approached his side, she whispered, ‘father?’

  Barrison’s eyes flickered and opened slowly, a wretched cough tearing from his cracked lips as he curled up in pain
before looking up at his illegitimate daughter.

  ‘Corrie?’ he said with a gravely voice. ‘You’re back? Did—’ he coughed violently, ‘they come… the elves?’

  ‘We did,’ a smooth, melodic voice said from the doorway.

  But you can’t help him can you? Correia thought helplessly, not taking her eyes from her father. That’s what Morton was asking you at the gatehouse… he’s too far gone.

  ‘Errwin?’ Barrison smiled as he used Correia’s arm to pull himself upright. She did her best to hide her horror at the state of her father; his bloodied fingers and the torn skin about his neck where he’d clearly been scratching at the numerous buboes infesting him.

  ‘Hello, Barrison. I’m surprised you remember me, you were very young last time we met.’

  ‘How could… I forget,’ Barrison said, followed by a chuckle, a chuckle that turned swiftly into a spluttering cough. ‘Back my child… you’re not to come close, now back.’

  Correia took a couple of steps back, her eyes glazing over as she did so.

  Those eyes suddenly widened with hope. ‘But father, the caladrius, why haven’t you let it in here? I shall call it.’

  ‘You have a caladrius?’ Nelem said from the doorway, laughing in disbelief. ‘I thought your coat-of-arms to be symbolic,’ the elf added, referring to the King’s well known caladrius emblazoned livery.

  Correia looked to her feet as her father glared at her.

  ‘They are rare indeed,’ Errwin-Roe said. ‘A bird of such pure soul they come second only to unicorns for sure.’

  ‘A gift, a long time ago…’ Barrison’s eyes half closed before re-opening fully, a sudden burst of energy taking him as he looked upon Correia once more. ‘A gift from the ruler of Sirreta at the time, when I was but a boy, but no, I shall not use the bird, that is why I have had it locked away from me, for I know it would either die to rid this plague from my body, or show me my death before I am ready to realise it.’ He held his bloodied finger up to stop Correia’s protest. ‘That bird is best left for the young, for you dear, or your brother.’

  Correia gasped. ‘Edward has the plague?’

  Barrison shook his head. ‘No, he is aboard his ship, but if he were to contract it and I had used the caladrius—’

  ‘But the elves are here now,’ Correia interrupted. ‘The end is in sight and Edward doesn’t have the illness, you do. So use the damned bird, father, I beg you.’

  Errwin-Roe stepped closer. ‘Correia is right, King Barrison. There is more to this plague than we yet know. We don’t believe it was created by your wizard here,’ the elf lord said, gesturing to the hooded Severun who kept his eyes down, unable to look upon the King, ‘but we do believe his spell carried it and I fear it was intentional.’

  Barrison sighed heavily. ‘We have begun to suspect the very same.’

  ‘It may well have been used as a weapon,’ the red haired elf lord continued, a look of disgust briefly flashing across his face. ‘There are strange happenings afoot in your lands and ours. We need you as much as you need us right now. There is increased troop movement to the south and yet we have received no messengers from Sirreta. Have you?’

  Barrison shook his head, his mind slipping into thought. No, Errwin, we haven’t, but we have learnt of the Black Guild’s plans for me. My daughter doesn’t need to hear of that right now. I imagine all of this is enough for her as it is and I think the Black Guild will be too late anyway.

  ‘Father, the elves wish us to send a group to The Marches, maybe even into Sirreta, to investigate. We need you strong and on the throne, where you belong. The plague will be cured now, I am sure of it, but there is much rebuilding to be done and if this plague was indeed intentional, it could only be meant to weaken us.’

  ‘But by whom?’ Barrison’s hand rose to scratch at his neck until he caught his daughter shaking her head. He lowered his hand and despite his best efforts, his eyes started to close.

  Correia and Errwin-Roe glanced at each other, their eyes meeting but for a swift moment.

  ‘There is something more we must discuss,’ the elf lord said, looking back to the King. ‘I need you fit so I can have it out with you about your use of black powder…’

  Correia’s second glance to the elf was filled with incredulity and anger, yet her father’s eyes opened suddenly as he looked back to the red haired elf stood before him.

  ‘It feels wrong to berate you while you lie in bed, so call the caladrius. It will hurt my heart to see the bird die, but you are needed, by far more than your citizens alone, and far more than you know.’

  Barrison looked from the elf to Correia and back, another long sigh leaving his lips. I am defeated by my father’s old friend and my daughter. ‘Very well, Errwin, have my chamberlain call for the bird, it seems we have much to talk about, you and I.’

  Correia moved back to her father’s side, brushed the matted hair from his clammy forehead and smiled. ‘Thank you, father, you’re doing the right thing. I have something for you, for when you have recovered.’

  ‘You are so thoughtful, my dear, always have been. Is it one of those local recipes you always manage to find for me?’

  Correia laughed. ‘Am I so predictable?’

  ***

  Strong incense burnt in Tyndurris’ guardroom, which seemed different somehow to Fal. It didn’t take him long to realise the reason for the smell and bright, magically enhanced lights. It’s become a makeshift infirmary.

  Several bunks were occupied with guards and mages alike, all suffering from varying stages of the plague. Casting his eyes about the people in the room, Fal was drawn to a bed surrounded by guardsmen not of the guild. He recognised a couple of them as he approached, including the patient. Whilst looking on, the largest guardsman, who was sitting by his smaller companion’s bed, looked up to Fal. The red haired man’s eyes widened as he saw Fal watching them.

  ‘Ye’re back,’ Sears said, hopefully.

  Fal was confused. No one knew we’d gone?

  ‘Are they here, the elves?’

  Fal nodded. ‘Aye, they came in with us not long ago—’

  ‘We need them here, now!’ Sears surged to his feet. ‘Biviano’s got nothing left, he’s all but gone, where are they?’

  Holding his hands out to calm the big man, Fal stepped forward. ‘They’re talking to Master Orix upstairs—’

  ‘Flay that! Go get ’em, quick.’ Sears became increasingly animated then, almost pacing besides the bed.

  ‘Sears,’ a cleric close by said, ‘calm down. I shall go talk to them, but Master Orix has done all he can for everyone in here, to keep them as long as possible.’

  ‘I know that, Effrin, but the elves, they can help.’

  ‘I’ll go talk to them, but only if you calm yourself,’ Effrin said.

  ‘He’s right, big man, ye need to calm,’ another guardsman said. He was stood by the bed closest to Fal. ‘Ye been sat there since ye got here two days ago, ye need to rest—’

  ‘Shut it, Bolly! Effrin, I’ll calm down if ye get a move on.’

  ‘Alright, I’ll see what I can do,’ the cleric said, before rushing from the room.

  ‘You all look like you’ve been through The Three,’ Fal said, motioning to the recently healed wounds on Bollingham and the poorly healing ones on Sears.

  ‘He won’t let them touch him; says he’ll let them heal him when they heal Biviano.’

  Sears glared at Bollingham, who shrugged back. ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘Not done him no good though has it.’ Sears nodded to Biviano’s still form, the man’s neck, arms and face scratched raw.

  ‘They’re doing all they can,’ Fal said, hoping to re-assure the big guy, although he knew little would do that. ‘Did you guys assist in the tower’s defence?’ he asked, unsure as to why they were in the tower and not an infirmary.

  Sears shook his head.

  ‘Nope,’ a flat voice said, startling Fal. He turned to see a dead pan expression on the man standi
ng behind him and then looked down to see a drowsy looking bloodhound at the man’s feet.

  ‘Morl’s balls, Gitsham. Where’d you two appear from?’ Bollingham asked.

  Gitsham shrugged. ‘About.’

  Bollingham shook his head and turned back to Fal. ‘They were knocking about Dockside, fighting assassins and gangers, whilst us two,’ Bollingham pointed to Biviano and then himself, ‘were taking on the Samorlians at their cathedral.’

  Fal filled his tattooed cheeks with air and let the breath out slowly.

  ‘Aye,’ Sears said, finally sitting back down besides Biviano, ‘ye summed it up there, sergeant.’

  ‘I’m still unsure as to how you knew I was coming in with the elves?’

  The dog whined as it began wagging its tail.

  ‘The dog,’ Bollingham said.

  Fal looked confused.

  ‘I’m not explaining it more than that; not that I could if I wanted to,’ Sears said, eyes not leaving Biviano. ‘Wouldn’t do owt to make it any clearer, sergeant, but aye, the dog; somehow it’s always the dog and we owe him a lot for that.’

  Buddle crawled under the bed and sat by Sears, resting his head on one of the big man’s worn boots.

  Shaking his head slowly with continued confusion, Fal turned finally to the sound of approaching voices.

  Sears’ head whipped round a moment after Buddle’s, and Bollingham followed suit. Gitsham however, was now sleep standing, and failed to react to the sudden activity about the bed next to him.

  Two elf clerics, the elf mage who’d somehow spoke in Fal’s head in the courtyard, and Master Orix had appeared with the young cleric Effrin, before swiftly moving into the room and around Biviano.

  Sears had willingly stood and backed away, followed by Buddle and Bollingham, all of which moved across to Fal to give the clerics and Feliscine room to work.

  Biviano never stirred as those working on and around him talked quickly, using words none other present understood, apart from perhaps Buddle, who seemed to have perked up more than any of those who knew the hound had ever seen.