by Rory Nelson
The corporal pats him on the shoulder, but the captain rebuffs him. “Don’t you ever disobey me again. You ken?”
“Had to be done,” states the Corporal. “You know that. We have the Hound of Hell. We’ll all be rewarded greatly when we return him to the crown. You ken?”
Captain Buckley nods slightly and pushes past him.
They hoist Renault up. One soldier pushes the butt of his rifle into his back to induce him on. “Oh, Captain?” inquires Renault.
Buckley looks at him. Renault smiles deviously. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He laughs in boyish derision.
The soldiers escort Renault outside the saloon and on to the paved limestone roadway. As soon as they are outside, thunder booms as a streak of lightning dashes across the ominous sky. Rain plummets to the ground and soon grows to a deluge. A large prisoner transport wagon has been fashioned from dogwood, the most resilient of all woods. Unlike other wagons, this one comes equipped with two windows to the outside.
That’s not what sets Renault’s teeth to edge, though. The Terra-Gaulians were taking no chances with the Hound of Hell. Renault does a quick count. He estimates approximately eighty soldiers have been commissioned to escort him to the capital for the trial and execution.
At least 35-40 soldiers ride behind the wagon, while another 35 to 40 ride before it. The wagon’s door has a considerable padlock on it. A soldier drives the butt of his gun into Renault’s back, pushing him forward.
Renault grunts and coughs. Another soldier grabs him by the collar and pushes him forward. The next soldier kicks him through the doors of the fortwagon. Once he is through, he is forced down into the seat. His handcuffs are attached to a chain behind him. A soldier locks his leg shackles to another set of chains. Two soldiers sit in the wagon with him and wait. To his left, another two guards flank the windows.
The last soldier chaperone climbs into the wagon and ducks his head. He looks at Renault with reckless hatred. Before he sits down, the man hooks him viciously in the mouth, emitting a spray of blood.
“Please to make your acquaintance, Hound,” the man says. “I’m Cord.”
Cord produces Renault’s infamous flap jacket with the surgically sharp daggers. He takes one out and brandishes it in front of Renault. “Gonna be a helluva long journey for you, Hound. For us, it’s gonna be a helluva fun one.” He looks at the other men and they laugh boisterously.
Renault smiles. “Looking forward to it, chums.” The transport wagon takes off amid the deluge of rain as lightning streaks across the sky.
(2)
Before Captain Buckley leaves, he keeps a detail of men with shotguns pointed at the table. There, Drake, Daliance, Ghange-Rhu, Wyker, Kilroy and Wyker sit. Terranimo, Rober, Cutswayne, and Fallon, having demonstrated their allegiance to Whalen, have been granted a safe leave.
Whalen approaches Buckley. “We’ll settle up outside. You ken?” he asks.
Buckley pats his coin purse, implying his blood money is there and ready to be handed over.
“Give me a minute with these men. We at least owe them the benefit of the doubt. You ken?”
Buckley shrugs. “Ai. We have what we came for.”
Whalen saunters up to the table. “Hands on the fucking table!” yells one of the soldiers as Drake rubs his hands through his hair.
He sighs and puts back his hands on the table. The rest of the men are doing so as well. “Hello, brothers,” says Whalen.
“Fuck you!” says Drake. “You traitorous snake.”
Whalen smiles with thinly veiled contempt. “I’m only going to offer you boys this once. If you don’t take it, well, I’m not sure it will bode well for you. Renault is finished. There is no hope of any escape. You got any plans of Tom Fuckery up your sleeves, I’d recommend you just forget it now. Otherwise, you gonna end up dead. I offer you your lives if you come with me quietly and forget about Renault.”
“With you as our sworn leader?” asks Wyker scornfully.
“Someone’s gotta do it. Imagine we’ll take a vote on it sometime. Make it official and shit.”
“I think you should go fuck yourself,” states Drake with a deadpan face.
Whalen sighs and shakes his head. It is as if he is dealing with a rebellious child and has no other recourse but to administer punishment. “That’s hurtful.” He looks at them for several seconds. “Last chance?” he asks. “Last chance to save your lives.”
He turns to leave. Daliance and Kilroy rise from the table. They exchange a desperate, contentious glare with the rest of the brethren, who shake their heads at their betrayal. “You fucking cunts!” mutters Drake.
“We want to live.” Daliance gets up and yells. “Whalen?” Whalen looks back. “We’re coming.”
Whalen nods. “Ai. Prudent of you. Only wish the rest of your brothers were as smart.”
Their hands are spread out on the table. The soldiers circle the brethren like vultures waiting for an animal to ends its death throes. The remaining brethren look at each other and shake their heads in stupefied dismay. So, this is the way it ends.
Once outside, Whalen puffs on his cigar before it goes out completely. He approaches Buckley. “Time to settle up,” he says.
Buckley take out his coin bag and counts out 300 large. “3,000 gold pence. As promised, this is the full reward for the Hound.”
“Thankee,” says Whalen.
“What do you want us to do with the remaining men?” asks Buckley.
Whalen shrugs. “The fuck you usually do with men who pose a threat to the Crown?”
Buckley nods his head and laughs. “Ai. Your competition thinned out some, I ken.”
“Fuckin’ ass!” says Whalen as he blows a plume of cigar smoke.
Daliance and Kilroy catch sight of the money being given to Whalen. They approach him. “Blood money?” Daliance asks. “Is that what this was all about to you? Fuckin’ blood money?”
“Only a simpleton would see it that way, Daliance. We completed a mission. We’re due our payment. Same as anyone else.”
Daliance scoffs and walks away, while Kilroy looks at Whalen accusingly. “You do plan on splitting that up with the rest of us?”
“Sure as fuck do!” says Whalen.
“Stick with me and there will be a helluva lot more where that came from. Set watch and warrant it.”
The men watch the soldier cavalcade trot out of town to Bryce Hill. There, for better or worse, Renault awaits his fate. And the Brotherhood will never be the same because of it.
The Brotherhood of Merlin: Book One
Since The Hound of Hell is a spin off from The Brotherhood of Merlin universe, why not check out the original one if you haven’t already:
The Brotherhood of Merlin: Book One
at Amazon.com
One universe of magic could never contain the Knights of the Round Table...
The Merlin bears his legendary title with honor. Lifetimes after King Arthur's death, the wizard will go to great lengths to protect the orphaned demi-god prophesied to carry his staff and protect the sacred code.
But with a vicious king marching on his heir's township, Merlin fears he won't have the strength to hold back the bloodthirsty horde.
Waging a desperate guerrilla battle, Merlin and his nine Knights deploy sword, pistol, and sorcery against the onslaught. But with the young successor in hiding and a savage enemy on the move, Merlin's centuries-long defenses could drown in a sea of blood.
Can the magician uphold the age-old legacy and once again lead his Knights to victory?
The Brotherhood of Merlin is the first book in an action-packed dark fantasy series set in a parallel universe of magic run amok. If you like gritty heroes, graphic combat, and breathtaking plot twists, then you'll love Rory D Nelson's page-turning tale. Buy The Brotherhood of Merlin to watch the mythical wizard charge into battle today!