Dark Crusade

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Surely no one in Anor is powerful enough to have broken that enchantment, Lord.”

  “Now you question the certainty of my knowledge? You are brazen as well as willfully stupid.” The Master raised a bony finger.

  “Mercy, Master!” Leng groveled. “Have mercy, O Great One. Let me repair my errors. Let me redeem what my foolishness has caused.”

  “Repair?” the Master sneered. “How could you, a fledgling sorcerer, rebuild such a powerful enchantment? Tell me this secret. Come, let me learn from you.”

  Leng licked his lips and winced as he lifted his head. “Do you know who broke this spell, Lord?”

  “Yes,” said the Master. “And it is another of your failures. You had her in your grasp, but your greed, your lack of wit allowed her to escape.”

  “Swan broke the enchantment?” asked Leng.

  The Master fingered his amulet, frowning.

  Cuthred cocked his huge head. That frown—Seneschal Kergan used to frown like that. Cuthred’s oversized features, the eyebrows like a horse’s mane, the big blunt nose, as big as two fists pressed together, and the puffy lips, twisted thoughtfully. Some of old Kergan yet lingered in the Master. Some—Cuthred’s massive chest tightened. This dark room now seemed cloying and the smell of incense choking.

  Cuthred hated that he had loved the battle in the city. He didn’t know why he kept thinking of that and why now. On the day that they had first conquered Glendover, on the docks as sunlight rose and as people cursed with fear and grief, he had known shame. He had wiped the human blood from his hands. He had slunk from the rising sun like a beaten hound. The shame…it had prodded him, troubled his slumber. He washed his hands every time he woke up and each time he lay down to sleep. Often, when the Master slept, he crept outside and from deep shadows dared peer at the sun. He wanted to remind himself that once he had been human, once he had frolicked under that fiery orb in the sky. He fueled his shame by said deed and couldn’t understand why he did so.

  He had seen something similar in Durren-brute. It had been on that same day, on the morning of Glendover’s rape. Durren-brute’s face had softened as a child had begged for mercy. Durren-brute had lowered his gory sword. He had turned away, unable to strike the child who had looked so much like his long-dead daughter.

  Cuthred peered at the Kergan-frown, and loathing filled him. Loathing for the Master and loathing at what he had become. Yet…he also thrilled to use his strength beating Leng. Ha-ha! The sorcerer wasn’t so smart after all. He squirted blood just like any puny human. He… Cuthred shook his head, shame and joy co-mingling together.

  “Swan leads them,” said the Master. “She has given them—” He stroked the amulet as he frowned. “It seems Hosar has found his dupe. He has given Swan an ancient banner to lead warriors to insane acts of bravery.”

  “But the enchantment, Lord…” said Leng. “Could a banner have broken such a powerful spell?”

  “A sword that I’ve not seen before did the actual breaking,” said the Master.

  “What kind of sword, Lord?”

  A scowl appeared on the Master’s ravaged face. “I know not.”

  “Who wields this sword, Lord?”

  “One named, Sir Gavin.”

  Vivian cried sharply. An instant later, as the Master and Leng turned toward her, she put a ringed hand over her mouth.

  “Yes,” said the Master. “You know this Gavin, don’t you, Harlot? What of his sword?”

  “It is silver,” whispered Vivian.

  “Silver and fire are ever Hosar’s tools against Darkness,” said Leng.

  “An obvious truism,” said the Master. “Harlot, tell me more about the sword.

  “That’s all I know about it,” she whispered.

  “Our problem is solved, Lord,” said Leng. “Slay Sir Gavin and steal his silver sword.”

  “The enchantment is still broken,” said the Master. “You have solved nothing.”

  Leng wet his lips, staring at the rug. Then he looked up, a sly smile on his face. “Perhaps the broken enchantment doesn’t matter as much as we think it does, Lord. We have one of the only two ways off the island. One more throw of Fate’s dice, to capture Lobos Port, will seal up Anor for good. Then you can take the fools at your leisure.”

  The Master shook his head. “A mere silver sword could not have shattered the enchantment. Swan must have blessed this weapon, or perhaps through her Hosar did it. I care nothing for your guesses and your wild hunches. Your advice has proven worthless too many times. Swan, the one you let live, led knights into the swamp, into Castle Forador. You said that no one would dare to do that.”

  “Hosar raised up a champion, Lord. So you yourself have said. Therefore, yes, one of my moves has been checked. I had thought to keep Hosar’s champion in bondage, and I suspected she might be the one. My studies on our great foe led me to conclude that he only rises up one such champion each time that he dares move openly against Darkness. Sir Gavin and his sword upset my calculation. I admit that. I will not quibble with you, Lord, on who is most the most dangerous of our enemies.”

  “What will you quibble with me on?” the Master asked softly.

  Leng hung his head. “On nothing, Lord, for I am the servant and you are the Master.”

  The amulet glowed, bathing the Master in an eerie radiance. For a moment, his eyes seemed to burn and the shreds of flesh shrink upon his skull. “Speak on,” he whispered.

  Leng had grown pale, and it seemed with effort that he moved his tongue. “They have checked the weakest of our moves, Lord, a fantastic feat for them. Truly, this silver sword is troublesome. So why not use the fravashi upon Sir Gavin and remove the sword? And while the fravashi strikes, make the final bold move, Lord.”

  The Master bent his ravaged head to peer into the city. He soon shook his head. “No. You are wrong on two counts. It is the woman, the Seer, who is the true danger. The fravashi must be used upon her. The knight and his sword are mere tools. I must first remove Hosar’s champion. As to this bold stroke that you urge of me. I think not. It makes me uneasy.”

  “But the gains, Lord.”

  “Yes. Capturing Lobos Port gives us great gains. But the risk! I must think on this a little longer.”

  Leng waited, before he said, “Should I release the fravashi, Lord?”

  “Yes, release it. Send it at Swan.”

  Leng dipped his head.

  “Go now,” said the Master. “Carry this whipping as chastisement. It will be but a foretaste of what will happen to you if you fail me again.”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “First, be sure to wash the blood from your back. Otherwise, you will drive the fravashi mad. Wait. Your wounds will do that in any case. Take the giant. Have him hold the fravashi as you give him his commands. Then hurry back. We have one more matter to discuss.”

  “As you will it, Lord,” said Leng, gathering his tattered robes around him and beckoning Cuthred to follow.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The council debate proved bitter.

  They met in the packed main hall of Castle Wyvis. The fire roared while servants threw open window-shutters to admit the sunlight. Knights and thegns sat on benches at the long oaken tables. They tore off hunks of break and cheese and quaffed it down with watery wine. Lady Pavia hadn’t wanted any drunken quarrels and had ordered the steward to mix four parts water to one part wine. Hounds roamed underfoot and two cats swished their tails from upon the rafters above.

  The fighters from Banfrey mingled with those from Castle Wyvis and other nearby fiefs and baronies. Carrier pigeons had been tossed into the air and fast riders sent out to bear grim tidings. Midland barons had already begun to arrive, while some had sent heralds or pigeons with a return message. Alas, a herald had come last night from Banfrey. It’s what had started the heated debate.

  Unsurprisingly, Sir Ullrick said that he had no choice. As he spoke, he pounded the oaken table with his fist, saying that King Egbert ruled South Anor. Therefore,
because his High Priest and Lord Chancellor had summoned them back to Banfrey, they had to leave at once.

  “What about the High Priest’s other order?” asked Lady Pavia.

  Sir Ullrick the Bear shifted in his high-backed chair. The lordliest nobles sat on such instead of the benches.

  “The High Priest demands that we disband our host,” said Lady Pavia. “Do you agree with that, Sir Ullrick? Should we leave ourselves defenseless?”

  Swan rose. She wore a blue dirndl-skirted dress. It was the kind peasant girls wore and it contrasted with everyone else’s finery and also added to the feeling that here indeed was one pure in spirit. Swan reminded them once again—as she had been for days—of the swamp’s emptiness and of what they had discovered at Castle Forador. Clearly, the darkspawn had marched north in strength. But by shattering the foul altar to Old Father Night, the enchantment that had held the swamp in dark thrall had been destroyed. When Lady Pavia asked if she saw that through visions, Swan admitted she didn’t. It was educated guesswork.

  “Has your power deserted you then?” asked Lady Pavia.

  Angry murmurs arose from the crusaders: the knights who had sworn on the Banner of Tulun to follow the Seer anywhere. Although they were few in numbers, they made up for it in zeal. They wore newly fashioned surcoats dyed blue and with a yellow flame symbol sewn onto the fronts and backs.

  Swan ignored Lady Pavia’s question. Instead, her gaze swept around the room, to those seated at the long oaken tables and to those standing against the walls. “The darkspawn marched north. Why then haven’t we heard cries of help from those in the North? I believe because the darkspawn have surprised them and gained wicked victories. Perhaps they even besiege the Duke’s lords and ladies in their castles. Our brothers and sisters of North Anor face the darkspawn alone, and if they have lost battles, we know that the spirit of Zon Mezzamalech will take the captives and make yet more darkspawn. Shall we wait until all North Anor swarms with darkspawn? Shall we bicker and fight among ourselves and let the terrible foe marshal his strength and slaughter our natural allies? I say no!”

  “No!” shouted several crusaders.

  Swan put her palms on the table, leaning forward, letting her gaze once more sweep those both seated and standing. “Here then is what we must do: head north through the swamp route, for it is the quickest way, and ride to help our fellow man. Remember, united we stand and divided we fall.”

  “No, no, milady” said Ullrick.

  Swan took her seat, her eyebrows raised.

  “Let me assure you that the High Priest disguises his threats very thinly indeed,” said Ullrick. “If I and my men don’t return to Banfrey” —he glanced sharply at Sir Josserand— “he will think that we’ve joined the rebellion.”

  “We are not rebels!” cried Lady Pavia.

  “Tell that to the High Priest,” said Ullrick. He quaffed his goblet of watery wine, staring at it, soon blowing through his mustache and looking around the table. “He will believe that I’ve joined you. Then he will stir the King with lies and raise the King’s Army. They will march against us to do battle. Perhaps as bad, before that and in my absence, I’ll be stripped of my ancestral lands and castles and be named an outlaw.”

  The others looked dismayed, although perhaps more for the thought of the King’s Army marching against them than for the Bear’s troubles.

  “This news should bring smiles not frowns,” said Swan. “Oh, this is good news indeed.”

  Sir Ullrick looked stricken, while Lady Pavia asked, “Good?”

  “Yes,” said Swan. “By the time the King’s Army arrives, the darkspawn will have marched south. If our timing is exact then we shall ride to the King, do homage and together in unity crush the enemy.”

  Several people grew pale.

  Sir Ullrick shook his head. “That is a dangerous and vain idea, milady.”

  “We wish for no war against Banfrey,” added Lady Pavia.

  “I must leave for the city at once,” said Ullrick. “I beg your forgiveness, but I have no choice in the matter.”

  Swan laid a hand on Ullrick’s thick wrist. “I ask you to do this, sir. Wait a week while I ride north. When I return you can take several sacks of darkspawn heads with you to hurl at the High Priest’s feet and thereby show him and the King the falseness of these charges.”

  “You can’t go north,” said Lady Pavia. “It’s madness to even speak of reentering the swamp. The bats and evil serpents and strangely altered beasts that harried your flanks on your death ride out of the swamp will once more lie in wait.”

  “No, milady, you’re wrong,” said Swan. “The evil of Forador Castle has been purged. The altar to Old Father Night was shattered, the wicked enchantment broken. The beasts have already slunk away. This I know as fact.”

  Ullrick plucked at his beard as others digested the news. Soon the Bear turned on a silent Gavin. “What do you say, sir? What is the knight-errant’s opinion?”

  “I follow Swan,” Gavin said. “But since you lack the courage to do likewise, sir, I suggest that you scurry back to your master like a good cur and lick his hand so he may yet pet you.”

  Ullrick slammed his knuckles against the table.

  “Please, Sir Gavin,” said Swan, “do not slur the honor of this noble knight. He must follow his conscience, as we all must do.”

  “Do you call me a coward, sir?” asked Ullrick.

  “A base coward,” Gavin said.

  Ullrick reached for his scabbard, making to draw his sword. But all of them had agreed to enter the council chamber unarmed.

  Gavin grinned. “I once disproved your charge of cowardice against me on the jousting field. How will you disprove my charge against you now?”

  Ullrick’s thick lips curled. “I’ll ride wherever you dare, sir!”

  “Very good,” Gavin said. “We leave for North Anor in the morning.”

  ***

  “You shouldn’t maneuver him through his pride,” Swan later chided Gavin. They stood by a well in the courtyard, with cups of cold water. A white dove was perched on Swan’s shoulder, cooing softly.

  “If I hadn’t spoken up,” Gavin said, “Ullrick would have left. He would have taken some of our best fighters with him.”

  “That’s not the issue. It’s the manner in which you use people. We are crusaders, not mere soldiers. We must follow the ways of Hosar.”

  “The princely fools who went crusading in Godomar thought likewise. ‘We follow Hosar,’ they said. ‘How can we lose?’ In the cold pine forests, they lost everything. Thus, I learned that only keen generalship and stout fighting will see us through. Your courage is beyond question, milady. You are indeed the star of courage. Your radiance gives others hope. You gave me hope, and I watch repeatedly as you infuse hardheaded swordsmen with true faith. That, I deem a miracle. Otherwise, I must admit that I and everyone else around you are dupes and fools.”

  “You are no fool.”

  Gavin grimaced. “I rode back into the swamp. I watched Sir Hunneric transform into a monster before me. I swung my sword against a stone altar. I’d say I was a fool.”

  “Your sword shattered the enchantment.”

  Unease stirred in Gavin’s eyes. “You are gifted, milady. None can gainsay it. But this idea of letting Ullrick and his stout fighters leave…” Gavin shook his head. “It makes me wonder if you have the generalship to claim ultimate victory.”

  “Do you?” she shot back, startling the dove. It circled and landed at her feet, walking around Swan as it cooed.

  “What do you mean?” asked Gavin.

  Sawn smiled, stretching the scar on her cheek. “I mean that you have been promoted, sir. You are no longer my champion, but my Captain General, military leader of the crusaders. I shall supply you with the stout hearts, as you say. You in turn must supply me with generalship.”

  Gavin scratched under his beard. “The others won’t like that.” He wasn’t sure he liked it himself.

  She smiled serenely
, and the dove no longer cooed as it eyed Gavin.

  He scowled. “How many ride with us tomorrow?”

  “A little over a hundred,” she said.

  “What of Lady Pavia?”

  “She implores her noble neighbors to ignore the High Priest’s warning, to ignore the Anno Charta and to field their warriors and retainers and join us. So far, only Baron Bain, their closest neighbor, has agreed to ride with us.”

  “Bain is the knight with the famous morningstar?”

  “Him,” said Swan. “When we return, I suspect more like Baron Bain will have rallied to us. Perhaps as good, many of the town mayors have promised to sway their burghers to join us. Then we will field a real army to defend the Midlands.”

  “A mob, more likely,” muttered Gavin. “That’s what town militiamen really are, along with most of these castle louts. The High Priest’s mercenaries are the only really dangerous men in Anor.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if you’ve given me true faith or beguiled me with your sweet ways. I fear that in the end we’ll all die a fool’s death in this far-western island. Our trick will be to die cleanly.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  His grimace turned even sourer. “Better a quick death by the sword than captured and turned into a darkspawn like Sir Hunneric.”

  ***

  When morning came, Gavin clopped his palfrey to five wagons hitched with mules. Drivers hunched upon the buckboards as the castle’s front-gate chains rattled and the portcullis inched higher.

  “What are those for?” asked Gavin.

  “For any wounded we find in the North,” said Swan.

  Gavin shook his head, explaining that wagon wheels became too easily mired in mud, especially swamp mud. Mules by themselves were better.

  “Without the wagons we won’t be able to carry away as many wounded,” said Swan.

  “If we have more mules we could.”

  Swan must have seen the wisdom of that. So she gave in to her Captain General. Departure was thus delayed a day in order to round up more mules from the outlaying villages.