The Last Benediction in Steel

by Wright, Kevin

  “The light, brother.” Darkness swirled as the Nazarene trudged forth.

  Forging onward, I tripped, staggering to a knee.

  The barrels of poppy seed oil stood before me. Without thinking, I kicked them onto their sides. Two blows, Thunk! Thunk! And I stove in their tops and kicked them rolling across the flagstones.

  “Yes, brother!” the Nazarene bellowed, his voice still hale, strong, “Yes!” But in the dungeon darkness, he collapsed to a knee, a husk of bone and desiccated flesh.

  I grasped Stephan’s lantern.

  Gore sluiced from the strigoi’s distended maw. It turned, its crippled visage contorting in malice as it came for me, slashing faster than thought, claws distended, half of its mass a slithering orgy of tooth and tail.

  Muttering a cacophony of fractured prayer, I clamped my eyes shut, preparing for the onrush of hideous oblivion.

  Talons swept past, the fetid kiss of death and decay, the breath of madness and horror as the strigoi’s leering masque whined and growled and hissed just shy of murder. I cracked an eye as it slid back a hair.

  “What in hell…?”

  Behind it, the Nazarene, once so sturdy and monstrous and hale now little more than a skeleton, stood trembling, holding the strigoi at bay, pulling it back by his own entrails noosed round the strigoi’s throat.

  Grimacing, pale lips quavering, the Nazarene held, his gaze locked on mine, his voice a hissing whisper, “The light, brother, show us the—”and I spiked the lantern into the oil.

  I didn’t stay to watch them burn.

  …pray that when that one-eye blackguard’s smug scowl meets its end, I am there to bear witness.

  —Haesken Family Treatise: King Eckhardt Haesken III

  Chapter 63.

  A THUNDEROUS COMMOTION lay beyond the Schloss’s front door as Karl and I trudged through the great hall. The fume of torch and grease and grime of death and despair shrouded us head to toe.

  “Gonna make it?” I asked, gripping Karl’s arm across my shoulder, lugging him like a sack-full of shit.

  “Rrrg…” Karl was in a rough way. A rough, ugly way. “Don’t let me slow you.”

  Every minute or so, he’d stagger under the bombardment of a coughing jag, nearly turning his insides out hacking up black bile and … nodules. Polyps. Something…

  I shuddered. But he was still on his own two feet. More or less. Still moving under his own volition. Still the most ornery prick I’d ever met.

  “Think that thing laid eggs in your belly?” I pondered aloud as we shouldered out the front door.

  “I’m gonna lay eggs in your—” Karl gripped the door jamb and froze. “Grimnir’s spear…”

  The horde had taken the courtyard. Scourgers and townsfolk alike amassed.

  Von Madbury stood in their midst, a lone wolf fending off a rabid pack. “Back off, you fucking pissants!”

  A circle of carnage lay about him. Bodies. Broken weapons. Churned muck. In one hand, von Madbury bore his curved Mongul blade. In his other, he had Joshua by the hair, on tiptoe, gasping, wincing, wailing, blade pressed against his neck. “Clear a damned path!”

  I muscled through the press, shouldering folk aside, gripping Karl.

  “Please, Sir Dietrick—” Lady Mary and Stephan stood across the circle. “Don’t do this.”

  Sarah knelt in the muck, sobbing, shaking, wailing.

  Von Madbury turned, dragging Joshua. “Tell them to clear a fucking path.”

  “Please, take me instead.” Lady Mary licked her lips and straightened. “Let him go.”

  “Move!” von Madbury snarled.

  But the horde deigned not to listen.

  Stephan raised his hand. “There’s nowhere to go, Sir Dietrick.”

  “The ship,” von Madbury snarled. “I want safe passage down to the docks.”

  “It’s gone.” Stephan raised his hands. “It left. Hours ago.”

  The horde rumbled, grumbled, fingers twitching on weapons. Ugliness. It was coming on swift and strong over the horizon.

  Karl’s knees buckled as a coughing jag dropped him like a stone. “Go on, lad.” He shoved me onward. “Go—”

  “Right.” I left him and pushed past bodies.

  “Fuck yourself!” von Madbury’s teeth clenched as the horde rumbled, contracting a hair. His blazing eyes lighted upon me. “Krait, you blackguard! Don’t you move! Don’t you take another step.” He gripped his blade. “I’ll slit him open. Wide. You know I will!”

  “Sure I do,” I said because I did.

  Joshua whimpered, twitched, winced as von Madbury tore on his hair and slavered in his ear.

  The horde shifted as I stepped into the circle. Lianne stood there amongst the press, pitchfork in hand, an eager look in her eye. Her father Giles stood by her side, a bandaged hand pressed to the side of his head. I saw the Tome-Bearer, heard the clink of his chains, the groan of old bones as he slammed his immense burden down across the edge of the scaffold.

  “Make them move!” Von Madbury slavered.

  “Who the fuck am I?” I shrugged. “And why the hell would they listen to me?”

  Von Madbury froze. Licked his lips. Swore beneath his breath.

  He knew I was right.

  “But,” I cocked my head toward a shadow rising from the corpse and carnage round the breaking-wheel, “they just might listen to her.”

  Bent and haggard and worn, Elona stood over the corpse of her dead son. She’d unwoven his limbs from the spokes and dragged him free of the wheel, lain him out, smoothed his hair, straightened his shattered limbs. Her arms, up to the elbows, were stained crimson. Wreathed in horror, her eyes met mine. “Palatine?”

  I shook my head, No.

  Lightning struck, her legs wobbled, nigh on felling her, but she gripped the spokes of the breaking-wheel, holding her upright.

  “Her? You’d listen to her?” Von Madbury sneered as the horde inched in. “You know what her husband did? Your king?” A devil-smirk fixed itself across his face. “For years, he sated that monstrosity, that abomination, that thing, with you and your ilk! Under guise of justice, he’d march them down that tunnel. ‘The long walk,’ he called it. Your king! He forced them in at sword point. Down into the depths. Into wrack and into ruin.”

  “Him?” I yelled. “Try him and you and that fucker, Sir Gustav!”

  I didn’t know it for truth, but von Madbury’s ‘long walk’ comment sparked something King Eckhardt had said on the Schloss’s rooftop weeks past. When I’d asked if von Madbury had leverage on him. And as for Sir Gustav? Well, fuck him, either way.

  “Shut your gob, hedge knight,” von Madbury sneered. “Stranger. Malingerer. No one knows you here. Nor cares what lies your serpent tongue spouts.” Von Madbury offered Elona a caustic bow. “And what say you, Your Highness?”

  “Eh…? Why should they listen to me?” Still she clutched the breaking-wheel. “Why should anyone listen to me? I’m no queen. No ruler. My husband is dead. Slain. Gone. Your king. And what sort of king was he?” She brushed hair from her face, a trail of blood staining in its wake. “You were not far off. The man was weak. Hesitant. Abhorrently cruel when it suited him. And my sons? Everything I hold,” she swallowed, “held dear? Nay. I bear no right by blood to the Haesken throne. To this town. This realm. I’m naught but a cursed widow wallowing in the ruin of a fallen house.”

  The horde riled, a grumble running through, rising.

  “Did you know?” von Madbury snarled. “Did you know he’d toast wine in the aftermath of the blood sacrifice? Dine to the screams of the fallen?” Von Madbury splayed a hand out. “Whilst they all starved?”

  “Murderer!” someone yelled.

  Elona stood before them, sunken, hollow, broken, waiting on someone to cast the first stone.

  My guess?

  It wouldn’t take long.

  Von Madbury laughed, that sharp hyena bark and something changed.

  Elona blinked. Glared up. Took a breath. Chin set, a blaze took ro
ot in her eye, her heart, her soul.

  “I killed the pig.” The Queen nodded to herself. “Yes. The swine. Me. I murdered him with his own blade.” She laid a hand upon her breast. “My husband. Your king. For what he had done. What he did. What he would persist in doing. What Dietrick said is correct. I killed him for it, and I watched him die. It was slow. It was painful. It was necessary.” She pushed herself upright off the breaking-wheel. “And it was not nearly enough.”

  Folk had stones in hand, arms cocked back, but not a one threw.

  “And so now you know the truth.” The Queen strode to the edge of the scaffold. “The truth of the Haesken line. The truth of your king. And you know the truth of me. So end it here. End it now. End it forever.” She raised her arms. “Cast your stones! Strike me down! And I’ll thank God for it.”

  A ripple of chatter tore through the horde.

  Followed by a void of silence.

  “You are queen!” someone yelled.

  Then another, “You are our queen!”

  A scattering of cheers erupted, barks and clatter, the clash of weapons, the stomp of feet. “You are our queen!” A chant rose through the darkness, from the despair, from the downtrodden and disavowed, avowing once more their faith in divine right.

  “Looks like they’ll listen.” Von Madbury licked his lips, blowing with the wind. “Looks like we can deal.”

  “Yes.” The Queen grew taller as the horde bellowed its chant. “So it would seem.”

  “So get me out of here.”

  “Yes,” the Queen glared down at her blood-crusted hands, “so it would seem…”

  “Order them to move.” Von Madbury pressed the blade into Joshua’s throat. “To clear a path. Order them!”

  Queen Elona stood unmoved. “You murdered my son.”

  “And I’ll murder this little shit, too.” Von Madbury licked his lips. “Now tell them.”

  “You think to dictate terms?” The Queen rang blood from her sleeve. “You think me a ruler in the same vein as my son? My husband? Nay.” She wiped her hands on her skirts. “Those days are dead. Dead and gone. Withered to dust and blown away.”

  “I’ll—”

  “Silence!” the Queen thundered. “And heed this, Dietrick, you snake of a man. You will die tonight. You will die here. You will die now. The only variable is by which means. Release the child and I’ll allow you to fall upon your sword.” She offered an imperious shrug. “And should you not, you shall suffer the same tender mercies you offered my,” her knees wobbled, nigh on buckling, but she maintained, “my son.”

  Von Madbury tensed like a wolf, hackles risen.

  The crowd was ravenous and ready, ready to turn back into a horde, a mob, to enact mob justice. Ready to vent its frustrations. Ready to vent them on the blackguard who’d flogged their sons. Raped their daughters. Knifed their husbands. Forced their kin down for the long walk.

  “He cried like a baby.” Von Madbury’s teeth gleamed between split lips.

  “I know it, you fool. I heard it. I watched it.” Queen Elona pointed her long slender arm. “Take him!”

  “NO!” Lady Mary screamed as Stephan lurched forward, the mob contracting inward, all grasping hands and ill intent.

  A quick jerk and Von Madbury kept his word.

  He slit Joshua’s throat, cast the boy aside and drew back his curved blade as I met him alongside the crush. Through the tangle, Stephan’s eyes bulged as his cries choked off. Lady Mary was jostled, shoved aside, trampled, disappearing beneath the surge of body and hatred, their hands reaching for von Madbury, groping at his arms, his legs, tearing his hair, restraining him, ripping his tulwar free, hammering him with fist and stone, wrestling him back and over, kicking and screaming towards the Queen, the scaffold, the breaking-wheel.

  Me?

  I didn’t give a bloody-fucking shit. Not as they took him. Not as they carried him. Not as they bound him cruciform, screaming, struggling, roaring, across the spokes.

  Joshua was the prize, and I reached him first, shielding him with my body, praying for a flesh wound. Praying it wasn’t a vessel. Praying for a miracle. And as always, the Good Lord came through in spades. Joshua lay unconscious, trampled face-first deep into the muck. Bleeding out from the neck, spurting in ragged blasts.

  “Jesus.” Clamping down on the gash, feeling warm red soak my palms, my sleeves, tasting the copper tang of blood, I scooped mud from his mouth, wiped it on my pant leg. Looked around for something. Someone. Anyone. Anything.

  But there was nothing. No one.

  A numb buzz entered my ears.

  “Abe, I’m sorry…” I squeezed down.

  Lady Mary staggered to my side, clutching my shoulder, a wraith in the night, talking, muttering, mumbling. What the hell was she saying? Everything, everywhere, heavy, slow, beyond blurry.

  “Huh?” I blinked. “What?”

  The pounding of a hammer punctuated von Madbury’s screams. The scourger chant folded in, melding to the beat.

  “Is … Is he—” Lady Mary leaned over my shoulder.

  “No. Not yet.” I grimaced, pressing down harder, knowing it wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t slow, wouldn’t make one bit of difference.

  “Lou!” Beat and battered, Stephan clambered from the mob, clasping Sarah. He hovered over, leaning close, trying to see, trying to help, knowing even with his God-given knack for healing, he was as impotent as me. “Is there anything?”

  “I don’t know,” I lied. Cause I knew. Knew we couldn’t slow it. Couldn’t stop it. Knew Sarah was gonna have to watch her baby brother die. Knew it was obvious but still didn’t have the stones to say it.

  “Joshie!” Sarah latched onto him, arms wrapping so hard I nearly lost my grip.

  “It’s alright, kid,” I whispered in Joshua’s ear. “Sarah’s here. Your sister. She’s holding you. With you. Mary and Stephan, too. Just close your eyes. Abe and — your mom and dad’ll be there when you open them. It’s gonna be … No.” The spurting had stopped. “Fuck.” I clamped harder, grimacing, swearing, driving his corpse sinking into the mud. “Come on. Come the-fuck on!”

  “Brother.” Stephan laid a hand on my shoulder. “Lou. He’s gone.”

  I swatted his hand aside and pulled Joshua’s eyelid open. Numb. Glazed. Gone. I needed to hit something. Bite something. Murder something.

  “Oy, young feller,” a voice cackled from behind. “He’s not gone. Close, aye. But not gone. Not yet.”

  I turned.

  The Tome-Bearer stood hunched behind, flab and tendon wobbling on skinny arms, trembling under their shared burden. The slow chant suffusing the air waxed to the sound of von Madbury’s begging, pleading, to the sound of his bones broken by hammer.

  “What do you mean?” Stephan gripped the Tome-Bearer by the arm.

  “Ease up, lad.” The Tome-Bearer winced. “I mean, there’s still some work what can be done. What can bear him back.”

  Sarah wailed. Lady Mary took her in her arms, brushing her hair back with a hand, talking, whispering hushed nonsense.

  “Then quit jawing and start doing,” I barked, still holding pressure.

  The old geezer grimaced, showing less teeth than more. “Lad, could ya ease up on my arm?”

  “I—I’m sorry.” Stephan let go.

  “Thing is, young feller, I — We, that is,” the Tome-Bearer grinned, a sneaky sly-fuck grin, “need someone. We need a … what’s the word? A nexus.”

  “Bring him back!” I roared. “Like the Nazarene. Bring him the-fuck back!”

  “Ya don’t ken even half of what ye saw.” The old geezer squinted up at the dawn sky. “And you’re losing time. Losing it fast.”

  “Fine. Sure. Yeah.” I blinked. “I’ll do it.”

  “Forgive me, young feller, but you won’t do.” The Tome-Bearer twitched his head toward Stephan. “You now? We could talk about you.”

  “I’m in.” Stephan stepped forth without hesitation. “Just tell me what to do.”

  “Gotta swe
ar first, boy.”

  “Swear what?”

  “Swear to me.” The Tome-Bearer slapped his sunken chest. “Swear yer everything. Everything you have and hold dear and ever will.”

  “Stephan—” I blurted but it was already too late.

  Stephan laid a hand on his heart. “I swear to you my life and my soul. Now tell me.”

  The shitty old prick cackled with glee, clapping his hands as he dropped the book in the muck and scrabbled through it with grubby paws. “Ya already know, lad.”

  “I—” Stephan stiffened as though jerked up suddenly by invisible strings, scowling as he hissed some language low and in the shadows. Scourgers slid in, converging, shambling forth like the walking dead, their muted chant shifting, rising, coalescing, filling the air as the horizon pinked in the distance.

  Behind, von Madbury squealed raw as a hog being slaughtered.

  I didn’t know what they were doing to him.

  I didn’t care.

  “Brother, what—?” I said.

  “You can let go now, Lou,” Stephan said softly, slowly, firmly. “Let go.” He peeled my trembling fingers from Joshua’s ruined throat. A cut clean down to spine. Like a second mouth. Jesus Christ. “Stand aside. Please, brother.”

  But I couldn’t let go. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t anything.

  Stephan squeezed my hands, “You’ve done what you can.”

  Breathless, I collapsed back in the mud.

  The Tome-Bearer clambered atop the open book, pushing it into the mud, pawing it, eyeballing the pages in the waxing dawn, his mouth moving as he lead the chant, as he always lead, a tremble of greed and ecstasy ticking tremors across his squatter’s mug.

  Stephan knelt over Joshua.

  I scrambled aside, trying to see, to watch, to make sense of everything, anything, and knowing I was falling short to all quarters.