Lockeran (Prince Ciaran the Damned Book 2)

by Ruari McCallion

  He emerged from the alley as I turned to face him. He lumbered on, just enough… I ran past his left side - he swung round to try and bring his weapon to bear. He thought he had pushed me into a trap, as I was running towards a wall. I didn’t slacken speed; I ran up it and flipped myself over behind him. He was looking up at me, amazed, as my head passed his. He was a little overbalanced. I smiled straight into his eyes; he actually smiled back - he was quite taken with the show. I grabbed his head, down towards his neck, and used my momentum and his overbalancing to bring him crashing down. Before he could get his breath back, I simply touched him and willed him into his own fears. He didn’t thrash about, as they normally did; he went stiff as a board. Whatever, he was out of it. I stood up and looked over towards the younger one, still in the alley. I grabbed my bag and headed towards him. He wasn’t long for this world, I was determined on that.

  Zelda beat me to it. She dived across him, her back towards him, protecting him. After what she had just seen, she was brave. I had to give her that.

  “No, don’t! Don’t hurt him! Don’t kill him!”

  “He was going to rob me. Probably kill me. Why should I spare him?”

  “He wouldn’t have killed you. All right, he was going to knock you about a bit - but you ask anyone. No-one has been murdered round here. We don’t kill anyone. Please don’t!” I probed her mind; she was telling the truth.

  “What is he to you? Your lover? Husband?”

  “He’s my brother! We only have each other. Please don’t! Don’t…” I probed again. She was telling the truth. She began to weep, quiet and sincere tears.

  A chance to be merciful, if you would have mercy in your turn.

  I reeled with shock at the sudden invasion of my mind. It was gone as soon as it began but my head felt ready to explode. I reached for my bag, hoping that Johanna had left me enough medicine. She had; the brown jug was well over half full, by the feel of it. I took a couple of drafts and was myself again. Zelda hadn’t noticed; she was still weeping over her brother’s sleeping body. I reached over to touch her. She flinched; terrified I was going to kill her as well. In other circumstances, I probably would have. But this was her lucky day.

  “It’s all right, I won’t kill him. Or you. Or even Theofric,” I said, jerking my head towards his rigid form. Zelda was astonished. She thought I had killed him with a touch. I shook my head. “No. I have turned him in on himself. He is lost in his own mind at the moment.” She tried to shrink away from me again.

  “Are you - are you that witch-king they talk about?” I shook my head.

  “I am no witch. And nor am I a king. But you’d best be quiet about me from now own. You have no idea how I got out of the gaol and no idea where I have gone - all right?” She nodded, sharply. She meant well but she couldn’t really be trusted. If someone put pressure on her, she would crack pretty quickly. I would make sure she didn’t. “I will leave you enough money to make a fresh start, in payment for my freedom. Now come here. Lean over - I won’t hurt you.” She leaned her head forward. I wiped all memory of the last hour from her brain and made her fall asleep at the same time. She would wake up with a headache and put it down to over-heavy drinking. I touched her brother, who was well away. He would wake up with a headache, too, and some bruises. And no memory of how he got them. I took the liberty of removing Zelda’s small purse from her cleavage and topped it up with several gold coins. She would not be able to retire and live as a lady of leisure but she could certainly buy herself a couple of fine outfits and some quality lodgings, while she sought to get her claws into a “good marriage”. I couldn’t resist a smile as I replaced the bag in its hiding place. It was a tight fit and I had to poke it in a bit. When I went back out to Theofric, I touched his head, released him from his internal torment and quickly pressed him to go to sleep. As his body relaxed, his eyes sprung open.

  “When you play the Blood Red Game you will lose,” he said. The clouds had thinned and the night was lighter. His thin, grey tongue glistened in the moonlight as it slithered over his teeth. I sprang back in shock and was ready to take to my heels at top speed. But Theofric’s face had relaxed back into sleep.

  “What is the Blood Red Game? What the hell is it? What is it? Tell me!” It was no use. Whatever had possessed him had let him be. Suddenly, I was worried for this little gang of three. Two of them had repeated that phrase to me, and it reeked of evil. If I had any sense I would have left immediately but I couldn’t quite bring myself to. I assumed my role as a Druid priest and took the time to make some prayers and incantations over them. It wasn’t a full cleansing of evil - that would take days and would require several others, with greater skill than I possessed - but with luck it would provide them with a means of defense until they were able to access something more. Short of handing myself back in to the constable’s custody and running the risk of the magistrate’s mercy, there was really nothing else I could do. I had to make tracks before the day was much older.

  It was already later than I realised; dawn was breaking. I made my way back to the inn to get my horse and, if I was quiet, my hauberk. It was finely crafted, with overlapping tokens of well-tempered Spanish steel fastened to its outside surface. It was a proven life-saver. I went to open the back door but I was beaten to it. The innkeeper and I stood, face to face. Neither of us said anything. I stepped back and went round to the stable, he came through the yard and emptied a bucket of dirtied water into the gutter at the alley. I saddled Onion and led him quietly out, mentally giving up my hauberk as lost - but I heard a small jingle. The hauberk was laid on a low bench by the back door. I went over to collect it and caught a glimpse of a couple of faces. The innkeeper nodded and turned away. Johanna made the sign of the cross. I pulled out a few more gold coins and left them on the bench, in two piles.

  “For the furniture here and for you, for Brittany,” I whispered. She nodded. I mounted up and thought quickly. Crossing the river by the bridge in this town was now out of the question. Two sets of guards, there and at the west gate, with the growing buzz of a town waking up to a new day - the risk was too great. My mind made up I made my way quietly to the east gate, the one where I had entered, just the day before yesterday. The guards were dozing and I made sure they stayed that way for a few more minutes. The gates opened quietly enough and in a moment we were outside. They closed quietly as well, but there was no way I could put the great bar across them, not from outside. I hoped the soldiers would wake up before anyone in authority came and found them. With me on its back, the pack horse plodded quietly off along the road, turning right to head back to where my main mount and Wolf would still be waiting, I fervently hoped. We would have to find another way to cross the Seine. Trying to cross in Paris would be to invite trouble, as if I didn’t have enough already. I would have to go downstream and maybe resort to a ferry, rather than a bridge - but that meant finding a crossing over the Marne. Going back upstream was out of the question, because that would involve going deeper back into Clovis’ territory. I couldn’t rely on arrest warrants from him - which really would involve me - taking much longer to arrive.

  As things turned out, I was right.

  Chapter Eleven

  A Deadly Toll

  We were a mile or so outside the town, the sun was up and a coach clattered its dusty way down the road. I pulled over to allow it to pass but it slowed and came to a halt.

  “You there, fellow,” came a voice from inside. The dust-curtain was pulled back to reveal a man a little older than myself with a pasty complexion. Gained from too much time spent hunched over documents, I suspected. “How far is it to…em…” he consulted a scroll. “Etiolles? A small town on the river, I believe.”

  “Not far at all - you’re nearly there. Not much more than a mile. The road comes down to run alongside the river and it’s about a mile from there.” I ventured an enquiry. “You are up and about early, seigneur. It must be very important business that brings you all the way out here.”

/>   “Yes,” he nodded, officiously. “A dangerous criminal has been restrained by the town constable. He thought it was a thief and practitioner of witchcraft from the kingdom of Austrasia but that fellow was caught and hanged months ago. However, it seems we have an epidemic of wickedness on our hands. I must put the man on trial and get the matter concluded as soon as possible. This sort of thing must be nipped in the bud.”

  “In which case, I must not detain you any further,” I said, with a bow. The magistrate banged the door of the coach and ordered the driver to get on with it. With a jingle of bridles and in a cloud of dust, they were gone. A few minutes and not much more than half a mile later, I had to get off the road again as a troop of horsemen came charging down the road. The bulk of them continued at a trot while one pulled over to address me.

  “You, there,” he called. “How far to Etiolles? A town with a bridge over the river.”

  “No more than two miles,” I replied. “Just follow the road down to where it runs along the river and you have about another mile to go. What has happened?”

  “Robbery, murder and high treason. The constable has detained a man who stole the king’s treasury and killed several of his guard.” With that, he was gone.

  “I think you and I had better get off the road,” I said to Onion. I waited until the troop was out of sight and the sound of its passage had pretty much faded and then slipped up the hillside and into the woods at the first opportunity - which, as luck would have it, was a stream flowing down a fairly gentle slope and with a pretty solid bed. We left no tracks for anyone to follow, whether from the magistrate or the troop of horse, or anyone else who might have realised that I bore a striking resemblance to the man wanted for robbing King Clovis.

  I thought of how this would play in the reporting and the gossip. Another story to add to the tale of Prince Ciaran the Damned, I surmised. In addition to witchcraft, sorcery, robbery and murder, my powers now extended to being able to walk through walls, escape from locked gaols and pass unseen by armed guards. And I expect I would have put the whole town under a glamour and made a witch’s brew of magic ale that seduced all who touched it, by the time the sun was set this evening. I didn’t mind; the more cautious people were of me - or at least, of my legend - the better. And they would be less likely to associate an ordinary fighting-man with the tales of this supernatural warrior. I looked up into the sky to see if there was any sign of me riding a flying horse or somesuch, and smiled as we climbed carefully up the hillside and found our way to our hiding place. Wolf was very pleased to see me; he bounded and jumped around the place, ran off, ran back again and took several minutes to calm down. Sage and Onion nuzzled up to each other and skipped about a bit. They, too, were happy to be reunited.

  It took a while to strike the camp, collect all my belongings and load up the horses. Time that I could not spare. When the empty cell was discovered and after a few questions were asked, search parties would begin to fan out across the countryside. If the magistrate and the troop of horse remembered seeing me then they would start looking in the wrong direction, so I hoped that their memories were good. Taking the open road north was out of the question. I led my two horses and Wolf through the woods, up the hillside, giving any sign of habitation a wide berth. Anyone else about gave me a wide berth as well. Pretty much anyone travelling through these trackless wastes would have reason to do all they could to make their way unobserved. While I felt the presence of several others over the next couple of days, they kept their distance and well out of sight.

  We came across a village named after some saint or other, growing on the south side of the River Marne and about ten miles east of Paris. It looked as if it was fairly recently established. The houses needed some paint and not all the doors and windows had been fitted. The remains of a Roman villa and farm were still visible; the material that made up their well-formed walls and floors had not all been taken to make pens for pigs or whatever the current inhabitants fancied them for – not yet, anyway. The bridge across the river was not in the best condition; there were stones missing from the parapets on either side and even some holes in the roadway that could do with some attention. None of this stopped the small gang that had erected a barrier on this side from seeking to charge an exorbitant toll for crossing it.

  There was always a fine balance to strike, in these situations. Pay up too easily and such a gang would quickly conclude that the traveller had more cash in their baggage and would quite possibly either seek to “renegotiate” or, more likely, set upon them and try to take everything they had. On the other hand, arguing too strongly would draw too much attention. I opened my mind to pick up on the nuances and impressions of the group I was dealing with, as clearly as I dared. Just over five minutes of haggling brought the price to a point that was still high but not as ridiculously as it had been, and at a level that a skilled mercenary like me would be prepared to pay, in order to get quickly to his next engagement. I hoped the odd growl from Wolf would have helped, both in guiding the negotiations to a conclusion and in discouraging curiosity towards my baggage in those who were not actively engaged in the discussions. But two of them were bull-headed about it and were determined to get as much as they could - which was beginning to look like everything I had. There were five of them - probably more in the growing village, either taking a break or watching from the shadows. Matters had to be resolved quickly, one way or another.

  “What do you have in your bags?” Wolf growled a response to the toll-collector, who was starting to rifle through my belongings.

  “That is none of your business,” I replied. “Let us settle on a fair fee and everyone can go on their way.” A fellow standing quite close to him allowed his hand to creep towards a short sword he was carrying. The other three were not entirely committed their comrade’s course of action but they were neighbours and had been making common cause up till now. If it came to it, they would fight against me. It would be five against one.

  I have faced worse.

  “Step away from my horse. There is nothing for you there,” I said. One of the group started to say something but he was quickly told to shut up.

  “This fine fellow has plenty. More than enough to share. He doesn’t seem prepared to share so we must do it for him.” Any possible protest was swallowed before it could be voiced. The tollsman was now a robber, as far as I was concerned. The die was cast.

  “Take your hand off my belongings or I will take it off your arm,” I said.

  “Oh, yes? You and whose army?”

  “I don’t need an army to deal with a rabble.” All five were now up for it - hands were reaching for swords and the next sounds would be blades being unsheathed - or so they thought.

  “Oh, you reck-“ he began but he got no further. My thrown knife cut his words off before he could finish. The reluctant three were not yet fully committed, which gave me time to engage the second of the most belligerent characters. His sword was already in his hand - but he wasn’t very good at using it. Adequate, like a man who had served in a couple of battles, but nowhere near good enough to stand up to a decent swordsman. I may not have been the best in Europe but this opponent was nothing like a match for me. I took his sword-hand off at the wrist, with my own short-bladed weapon. I had promised this to his friend but as I had not been able to keep that word, this one’s would have to do. I did not wish to be thought of as a promise-breaker. He barely realised what had happened before I had run him through his throat. Whether he died from loss of the blood that was spouting from a severed artery or if he drowned in it was in the lap of the gods.

  The other three had stirred themselves and were now committing themselves to the fight. I called on Wolf and he leaped onto one, tearing into the sword-hand and effectively removing him from the fight, for a moment at least. Two left, and they had their dander up. Luckily, in their eagerness to get at me, they got in each other’s way. They were not fully prepared; they were both wearing cloaks against the chill river a
ir. I stepped to the right and parried the thrust of the one on that side. The one to my left spun round to try and face me. Momentum brought his cloak halfway round and the hem swung up towards me. I caught it with my left hand and pulled on it, hard. He lost his balance and was spinning around, his back towards me as he stumbled. I parried the other’s wild swing and flicked his weapon out of his hand; he would have broken his wrist if he had tried to hang onto it. He glanced at his departing weapon and then looked at me. He dropped to his knees and began to beg me for mercy. I was not in the mood, and opened up his neck.

  That left one. He was trying to pull himself back to his feet and turned in time to see his friend pitch forward, his lifeblood pouring out between his fingers. He looked into my eyes and I don’t think he liked what he saw.

  “What manner of creature are you? A demon from the pits of Hell?” I snorted in derision. “We have little more than our lives and you are taking those. Damn you. Get it over with.”

  I was about to grant his wish when movement from behind caught the corner of my eye. I spun round and just, only just, managed to divert the course of my blade. I was intending to eviscerate whoever had managed to creep up on me. It was a child, whose head just about reached my waist. My blade cut the air just above his head. I caught sight of a woman, a few yards away, her hand coming up to her mouth and a scream forming on her lips. I looked at her and it seemed her knees turned to water. She dropped straight down to her hands and knees. The child, meanwhile, had reached the remaining would-be toll collector. His arms went around his neck but then he bent down to grab a sword.