The Immortal Knight Chronicles Box Set

by Dan Davis

  The broken men emerging from the darkness were like the living dead. Shuffling and groaning as they came, supporting each other and leaning on the walls while dragging their weak limbs on shattered feet. Many blinked and covered their eyes as if the single tallow candle at the end of the corridor burned with the power of the noonday sun.

  “Thomas,” I hissed, dragging him to me. “We cannot escape with these men.”

  He nodded, eyes wild. “And yet we must.”

  “Use your eyes, man,” I said. “None of them will so much as make it through the cellar before dawn. What is more, look at their bearing and their features. Surely, these are the servants and blacksmiths and other worthless men of the Order. We must leave them and find Grand Master Molay and the other commanders while we yet can.”

  A man’s voice intruded. “What is that you say?”

  He made his way toward us. A fine-looking young fellow, he was. Tall and fair and big boned but much weakened by his confinement and hobbling on injured feet. Even so, a fire burned in his eyes and I knew that he was a man of good breeding.

  I stepped forward. “I said that you may make your way through that door into the cellar. At the far end is a stairway down into the tombs. Follow them until you find your way into the narrow, secret tunnels and then go out into the town. From there your life is your own. God be with you.”

  He shook his head and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Tell them, instead. Who are you?”

  “Friends of the Templars, here to free Grand Master Molay and others. Who are you?”

  “I am John D’Arcy. A knight. And I know where the Grand Master, the Treasurer and Preceptor and others are being held. I will show you. This way.”

  “You are English?” I said, noting his accented French.

  He paused. “No. My father served John FitzGerald, the Earl of Kildare.”

  “Close enough,” I said, recalling that the Earl had been subject to King Edward I and no doubt to Edward II also. “Very well, lead the way, sir.”

  John made his way up the first few stairs with barely a glance at the dead guards on the floor. He was hurting, that much was clear, but he moved well enough all things considered.

  “Just a moment,” Thomas said. “While I direct these poor brothers.”

  We pointed the broken men down into the cellar and told them where to go. We threw our dazed French prisoner into one of the stinking cells.

  I grabbed him. “If you make any noise, I shall come back here and silence you for good, do you understand?”

  Just for good measure, I knocked him on the head and he fell down in a jumble of limbs.

  “Another needless murder, Richard,” Thomas said, darkly.

  “I barely tapped him,” I protested. “And cease your scolding.”

  We locked him in just in case he ever woke up and went up after the Templar knight called John D’Arcy.

  “You could flee, sir,” I said to him as we paused at the doorway out into the chambers above. “Tell me where to find the Grand Master and flee with your brothers.”

  “I shall help.” He glanced at me and then behind at Thomas. “What are your names? Why do you help us?”

  “We are friends, that is all,” I said, before Thomas could confuse things with claims of being a knight of the Templars, which he had not been for half a century. “And we must hurry if we are to get Grand Master Molay and the others away from here before sunrise and the changing of the guard.”

  John raised his eyebrows. “You have guards in your pay?”

  “They have played their part already. Now, the chambers of the Grand Master are one floor above this one, are they not?” Our paid-off sergeant had informed us of the location.

  John shook his head. “No longer. They were moved and I saw their new chambers on this level, not upstairs.”

  Thomas growled from behind us. “Not what we were told, and our man has proved trustworthy so far.”

  “I saw them, I tell you. They are near to the chamber where the Inquisitors put us to the question. It was only yesterday.” He frowned. “Or the day before.”

  “Do you even know what day it is today?” I asked John. “What hour?”

  John hesitated, and Thomas growled in frustration. “We must hurry.”

  “Come, then,” I said, deciding. “Let us go to this new chamber, as John advises. We would trust his word over a sergeant of Philip, would we not?”

  We made our way out across the dark hall, following John. In spite of his keenness, it was clear he was suffering. He let out small whimpers as he walked, flinching with every other step. A light burned in an alcove by the door ahead and I saw that John’s feet were wrapped in bloody bandages, blackened by filth. I realised we would likely have to abandon him if we were hotly pursued.

  “That is their chamber,” John said, pointing it out.

  Thomas reached the door first, lifted the latch and heaved the heavy door open.

  Other than the furniture, the chamber was empty.

  “They were here!” John cried. “In this very room. I swear it.”

  “Well they are bloody well not here now,” I said. “Let us away to the floor above this one, before it is—”

  A cry pierced the silence.

  I turned to John. “The Inquisition perform the questioning during the night?”

  His face was taut. “At all hours.”

  “Where?”

  We followed through the chamber and into another, down a short flight of steps and then we rounded a corner.

  A grey-robed monk stood conversing by an open door, with a bored soldier leaning on a polearm. Light spilled from the doorway, along with pained cries and the aroma of roasted flesh.

  They froze, just as we did.

  The monk recovered his wits first, turning to shout through the open door behind him. “They are here!”

  Words to chill one’s blood.

  They.

  We were expected.

  My dagger already in my left hand, I immediately drew my sword and shouted to Thomas. “We are betrayed!”

  It must have been that sergeant from the town. Either he had been caught helping us or he had been a stooge the entire time, feeding us enough rope with which to hang ourselves.

  “Stay where you are.”

  The soldier levelled his wicked-looking polearm at us while behind him came the sound of men rushing toward us from the chamber. I edged away, thinking we could flee, until I heard an even louder clamouring of feet above us.

  “Dozens of them,” I said over my shoulder while keeping my eyes on the wary soldier before me. “Waiting for us upstairs.”

  “Coming here, now, by the sound of it,” Thomas noted.

  “A trap? Is this rescue become failure, sirs?” John asked, his voice faint. He recovered from his shock almost immediately. “I need a weapon.”

  I lunged forward without warning and ran the soldier through his face before he could react with his polearm. The Dominican friar hitched up his robes and ran from me into the chamber.

  “Here,” I said, tossing the dying man’s polearm to John. “Come on.”

  In the chamber beyond, five soldiers drew to a stop before me, clustered together in confusion as I sauntered toward them. I was dimly aware of the ropes, chains and other men in the background. The soldiers were not sure whether I was friend or foe until, grinning, I held up my bloodied sword and charged into them. I cut them down, moving swiftly to one after the other. They were not battle-hardened veterans, but men used to the tedium of guard duty which was not real soldiering at all. The last one I killed appeared unable to fully draw his sword before my blade sliced open the inside of his thigh, spilling hot blood to soak his loins. He fell to his knees, weeping and I finished him through the heart.

  “Who did you say you were?” John asked, staring with his eyes wide.

  “Close the door,” I ordered.

  Now that the soldiers were lying dead on the floor, the room held only three grey-robed Do
minicans and half a dozen servants.

  And four prisoners who were the subjects of the torture. One strung up awkwardly with his hands behind his back, another tied to a post with a cold brazier at his feet and the third and fourth men lying bound on the floor, no doubt awaiting their next bouts with the torturer.

  “Free them,” I ordered the Inquisitors.

  Not one of them made a move.

  I strode to the nearest one, the fellow who had raised the alarm, and he backed away frantically with his hands up. “No, no, no. It is a sin to do harm to a—”

  My sword point entered his throat and I pulled it across him as he fell, tearing a great gash through his neck and spilling hot, sweet blood before he clasped at the wound, gargling and thrashing on the floor.

  Everyone stared, shocked. I had startled myself but the sight of the tortured men had caused my blood to run very hot indeed.

  “Free them, I say,” I snarled, pointing with my bloody sword while the monk died behind me.

  A number of the servants rushed to undo the bonds holding the men. Thomas gaped at me while the other monks gathered their wits enough to begin to hurl outraged protests and curses down upon me.

  “You cannot kill monks, Richard,” Thomas cried. “Even if they are Inquisitors. We are not here for such things.”

  John marched past us both, straight toward an older, fat Dominican. “You may not be here for such things, sir.” The Templar held his polearm before him. “And so I shall be the instrument of justice on the Inquisitor.”

  “How dare you!” the old Dominican cried. “By the power of God, I command you to cease. God Himself commands you to halt at once.”

  John thrust the spear point of his stolen polearm into the man’s chest and bore him to the ground. The Inquisitor was still praying when John expertly dispatched him with a twist to the weapon that destroyed his victim’s heart.

  A commotion at the door, followed by sustained hammering of fists upon it, brought me back to the bigger priority. There were no windows. No obvious doors other than the single one by which we had entered.

  “Is there another door out of this chamber?” I asked the servants. They shook their heads and pointed at the door.

  “Only… it is only….” He spluttered, with tears in his eyes. “Only that one way there, my lord.”

  I grabbed the man but he wailed and cried. “I swear it to Holy Christ!”

  I threw him down.

  Thomas was busy untying the wounded prisoners and John had crossed to them and knelt by one. The old fellow who had been strung up by the wrists. He was pale and gaunt, with a haunted look in his red, unfocused eyes as he sank to his knees with a sigh.

  “By God, Grand Master. What have they done to you, my lord?” John looked up at my approach. “It is Grand Master Molay, sir. The leader of our Order.”

  “My name is Richard of Ashbury, my lord. We came to rescue you and your men but it seems we were sold a duck and now we are all trapped.”

  “Escape?” Molay said, his voice barely a dry croak.

  John hung his head. “There can be no escape, now, my lord.”

  “Oh, I do not know about that,” I said, brightly. “There cannot be more than a score of men outside. I shall fight my way clear through the lot of them and you men will follow if you can but walk.”

  They both looked at me as though I were mad, and the other wounded old men muttered. I assumed they were the Treasurer and the Preceptor and if anything they were in worse shape even than the Grand Master.

  “We can do it, my lords,” Thomas said, turning from his place by the door. “Richard and I will fight our way through those men, I swear it.”

  “Ashbury?” Molay said, blinking up at me. His broken mind was working but slowly. “Richard of Ashbury? I believe I heard of that man. A long time ago. Your grandfather, perhaps?”

  “If you like,” I said. “Come, now, sirs. Let us help you up. We must away before they bring more men and bar our escape.”

  Molay shook his head. “I shall not flee.”

  Thomas and I shared a look.

  “I fear they have taken your wits, my lord,” I said. “You are much weakened, yet—”

  “No, no!” He grasped my arm. “I shall not flee. I must see this through.”

  One of the other prisoners stirred, dragging himself to his feet. He had the appearance of a man already dead and the smell of one, too. “We shall all remain. I am sorry that your bravery and daring has been in vain but to flee would be to admit wrongdoing to all Christendom.”

  The third man spoke from where he sat on the cold floor. “And that is something we shall not do.”

  Molay nodded. “It is our duty.”

  The fourth man, a youngster, simply stared at the old men, aghast that his chance for escape was being quashed.

  “Your duty to die?” I asked, aghast. “How can you be so—”

  The door shook, and the hinges creaked. A few more such blows and they would be ripped from the frame and the soldiers would be upon us.

  “We understand,” Thomas said, solemnly.

  I glared at him. “No, we do not bloody understand. How about I truss you up like a prize hog, Grand Master Molay, and carry you to freedom, whether you like it or not?”

  “Richard,” Thomas said, in his scolding tone. “We must honour his wishes.”

  “He is not in his right mind,” I argued, pointing at him.

  John, a man I had only just met, placed his hand on my arm. “Sir, I know the Grand Master. I would do as he commands. We stay.”

  “No,” Molay said, his eyes wide, and his voice was stronger than before. “No, John, you must flee. And take Hugh there with you.”

  The fourth man looked up. Hugh had the kind of delicate boyish looks that young maidens find terribly appealing and real men find contemptible.

  Molay continued. “You two need not die nor face further agonies. Take word of this to those who would listen. Care for the men who escape death. John, Hugh, you must both do your duty. We may yet come through these horrors in the end.”

  The fact that he thought he would survive his torment made me sick to my stomach. How could he not see that the King of France meant to wipe him and his Order from the Earth?

  As the door cracked and splintered, it was clear that there was no time to argue further.

  I stood.

  “Are you fighting, sir?” I asked John. “Or staying?”

  He looked at the squire, Hugh, and then to the Grand Master of the Templars, who nodded.

  “Do your duty,” Molay said.

  John stood on his burnt feet and grasped his polearm, holding it close to the point so that he could manoeuvre in the close confines.

  He reached down to the younger man named Hugh and hauled him upright beside him. They grasped each other’s arms for a moment, steeling themselves for the fight.

  “What say you, Thomas?” I said. “Shall we make our way home?”

  “God be with us,” he said, kissing his sword.

  “We will move quickly and both of you men will stay with me or be lost,” I said to John and Hugh. The older man nodded. The younger one swallowed and shook from exhaustion and from the injuries sustained during his questioning.

  “Your name is Hugh?” I asked him and he nodded. “Can you fight?”

  “I am a squire,” he said.

  “Hugh fights well,” John said. “Do you not, brother?”

  “In truth, I have seen better days,” Hugh said. “But I will fight with everything I have left.”

  “That is well,” I said.

  I did not expect either man to survive. They were more than half dead already.

  Thomas lifted the iron bar and yanked the door aside, causing a half dozen armed soldiers to tumble over themselves as they spilled through the doorway. An oak bench fell beneath them. Two iron helms rolled across the floor.

  A laugh escaped me as I pounced on them before they could recover and jabbed my sword point into necks
and armpits, killing or wounding four then six men before those behind leapt back from me.

  I roared a wordless cry as I stomped over the dying men and slashed at the others to keep them away from me as I crossed the bridge of writhing, bloody flesh. The soldiers retreated as far as they were able, and Thomas, John, and Hugh followed on my heels, shouting the motto of their Order.

  “Beau-Séant!”

  Together, we forced our way through into the open hall behind and I rushed for the far corner, intending to use the cellar to get to the catacombs. Before I got halfway there, a mass of armoured men emerged from the stairway and stood together, holding their spears at the ready. These new men all wore iron helms and sturdy coats reinforced with strips of plate.

  Real soldiers.

  Unarmoured as we were, I doubted we could force our way through such a wall of steel without being cut to ribbons. Yet, there was another route of escape we had prepared. One that I had hoped to avoid. Still, beggars cannot afford to be overly particular. Changing direction, I raced toward a dark stairway in the opposite corner only to find there were no steps leading down.

  Only up.

  There was no time to hesitate, as the soldiers advanced at our rear and I was aware that John and Thomas were fending off the keenest of our pursuers and the squire, Hugh, came after me bent over and weak from his recent torture.

  “Up!” I cried at them and raced up the steps taking two in each stride.

  Appalled, I discovered that it went up beyond a single storey, and then surely another, before there was a door out of the stairwell. I saw the light of lamps and rushed into a room, startling two young servants carrying piles of folded linen.

  “Out of my way!” I roared at them. In their intense surprise they turned and promptly ran into each other and so I bowled them both over, sending white linen sheets flying into the air.