“You all right?” he asked. He clearly was not. His breathing was short and shallow.
“Did you see that?” Faith asked.
“Well enough. The horsemen appear to be heading towards the gate. We need to do something.”
She shared his sense of urgency. But what could they do? Their weapons were clearly useless against these abominations of men.
“We need answers first. The priest will know something … maybe? Where is he?”
Faith was already backing up and now she turned and followed James at a run as he told her to follow him.
The first urgent shouts of warning and the sound of crossbows being fired were coming from the direction of the gate, whose parapets were just visible through the mist that appeared to be settling again.
They reached the stone archway that gave access to the stables of the South Gate and crossed a dark courtyard to the main doors to the stables. The men of the South Gate sounded as if they were offering a torrid defence. But the horrified laughter of the horseman was cutting through the night again and it was obvious that the soldier’s weapons were not having much affect.
James opened the stable door, and they slipped inside. The priest was waiting for them, sitting against the wall, his knees drawn up, gently rocking back and forward. His aged, bearded face was gaunt in the dim light of the lantern James had left with him. He was staring unblinking into space, mumbling something to himself.
Faith knew they didn’t have much time before the gate fell.
“What do we do?” James crouched and shook the old man. “How do we stop them? If the gate falls they’ll be able to get her out of the city.”
“There is nothing you can do against such beasts as these,” the priest said.
“You know what they are?” Faith asked.
“I suspect that’s all. Whoever was out there summoned the Twenty Three.”
Faith had no idea what that meant, and the look James gave her made it clear that neither did he.
“They were the Larniusian dread knights, men sworn to protect the Hand. Elite swordsmen to the last man and greatly feared. At the Hand’s bidding they would single-handedly raze entire villages, even towns, butchering the inhabitants in the most heinous ways all for the gratification of their dark goddess. They are blood-letters. We thought they were men, flesh and blood, but whoever was out there just now spoke the names of some I recognised as Lord Marshals to various Hands across the centuries. Men long dead. Men as close to the Hand as any could be. And that orb you saw, I think I know what that is too. It was thought to be a myth, but unless I am mistaken it’s one of the dark goddess’ gifts to Larnius.
Faith knew of two, the Book of Minion and the Fountain of Rebirth, but from what she knew of both, this was something else altogether.
“We call it Vellum’s Key.” He stopped, took a calming breath and then pinned them with wide blue eyes brimming with barely contained terror. “It opens the door to Vellum’s Forge; the steps to the underworld. Worse still it can’t be used unless there is a Hand amongst the living. A living Hand! Do you understand what I am saying?”
Faith did, and she felt her heart sink because of it. “Damn it,” she muttered. They’d made a grave error. In all the hustle, they’d forgotten to mention Cargius’ warning to her uncle. “A new Hand was anointed this night. Lord Kane. Cargius told us before he and Danielle left the palace.”
If the priest’s face was pallid before it was now white as Mount Hellion’s summit snow. His mouth dropped open and he stared at her a moment then said, “Sweet mercies, and you told your uncle?”
“There wasn’t time. Danielle and Cargius were abducted shortly after.”
“Gods have mercy on us. We have to get to back to the palace and find the Chancellor.”
“Yes, we do,” James said. But as the aged priest tried to stand, James grabbed his arm preventing him. “But we also have a gate to defend. So if swords don’t work against them, how do we kill them?”
“I don’t know. The only account we have where the Twenty Three were defeated, or temporarily turned back is probably more accurate, was of a small village in what is now Noren. The story says seven died at the hand of a young woman.”
Faith snickered bitterly, not surprised in the least. “Likely a Child of Light?”
“With what we now know, I suspect so.”
“Well the Lady de Brie isn’t here,” James said, “So there must be another way?”
“There is, but it is not for me to talk about. I’ve said too much already. And it is not as if I know the details and even if I did, they would not help you. You must leave this to the Chancellor.”
“What about the Kathiusian Druids? This won’t have gone unnoticed. Surely they’ll intervene? Help us?” Faith asked. “I mean, they are obviously here in Amthenium by the looks of what happened down at the wharves.”
Everyone glanced towards the door as the horsemen began to gallop past again. It sounded as if they were heading across the square and into the city, which seemed odd. Had the soldiers sent them packing? If so, how was that possible?
James gave Faith a puzzled look and rushed to the door. The hinges groaned quietly as he pushed it open and peeped out. Faith joined him. A low stone wall enclosed the stabling yard from the square and beyond that they could just make out the shadowy outline of the building across the way. Light shone in some of the windows and doorways, and the silhouettes of residents could be seen in the street, all of it indistinct and ethereal in the settling fog. The trembling earth, the wind and the light from the orb had likely wakened the poor souls, and now the horsemen were heading directly for them.
“We have got to do something.”
As Faith ran for her horse, one of the wraiths unhooked a street lantern from its post and tossed it through the window of a house. A man protested loudly and when he approached the horseman he was cut down where he stood. Screams erupted and people began to run. The wraiths were on them like wolves to blood, chopping left and right as they slaughtered at will. More windows shone with light and more residents appeared at their windows or doors.
“Why are they doing this?” Faith said as she mounted up.
“The Hand is reborn … they need blood to ensure the Dark One’s blessing. This is just the beginning.”
“What can we do? What can we do?”
“I don’t know,” the priest replied “Stay out of their way. Run and hope they don’t follow. I’ve told you, I have to get to the palace.”
Faith had been mulling over an idea. “Gods’ water. Dee said it keep Kane at bay.”
“Before he was anointed, yes …” the priest began. “But this is an evil of a magnitude beyond our imagining. Sacred ground might keep them at bay for a time, but it may not either. We don’t know.”
“Either way we have got to get people out of this quarter of the city.” Faith put her hand out to the priest and gestured him over to her. “The vial of god’s water you have around your neck, I need it. Please.”
“It’s unlikely to help you, Milady.”
“Father, please. We don’t have time to argue.”
The priest slipped the necklace holding a small silver vial over his head and handed it to Faith, though not happily.
“What do you intend?” James asked.
Faith had drawn her sword, and now she uncapped the small vial and wet both sides of the blade. When it was done she handed the empty vial back to the priest.
“Faith?” James said, more urgently now.
“Get Father Portis on a horse, I’ll meet you back here in a moment.”
The sound of the Twenty Three’s murderous rampage across the square was growing more intense by the minute, making the horses uneasy, and they weren’t alone. Faith urged the mare out of the stabling yard and out across the square toward the gate tower. As she approached she was relieved to see that the portcullis was still in place and the parapets of the gate, wall and tower were still manned. The captain of the watch
had emerged from the gate tower with a sortie of soldiers and was collecting the bodies of five of their comrades who it appeared had been caught out in the open when the horsemen had ridden out of the fog. Unlike Faith, they had not been spared.
He looked up as Faith rode out of the gloom. “Milady. We feared you’d been lost. What is this evil? More to the point, what can we do to stop it?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. You turned them back well enough?”
“They left of their own accord, I fear. Nothing we did appeared to do them any harm.”
The young knight’s attention kept shifting to the death and mayhem that was taking place across the square. Mercifully the banks of ebbing fog kept most of it from view from this far away, though Faith shared his impotency just as keenly, for not even the fog and smoke could obscure the terrified screams or the glow of flames as the fires grew in number and size.
“What are we to do?” the captain asked.
“Keep the gate secured and ring the siege bell, we have to keep people in their homes, or at the very least get them through Brier’s Gate and into the palace precinct. And fetch me a loaded crossbow.”
“The siege bell hasn’t been rung in a decade. Many won’t know what it is and might very well venture out of doors instead of remaining within. And if we fill these streets with people, blood will flow more freely than it already is. There must be another way?”
“There isn’t. Now do it! You have a chapel in the tower, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Have the God’s water taken to the parapets and make sure your men dip their arrows into it. It might help.”
The knight looked at her as if she was demented.
“Please, just do it. And get me that crossbow, I have to go.”
The captain gave the order and then turned back to Faith, “If we need to evacuate the quarter, let me open some of stairways to the city wall.”
“No. You keep them barred regardless of what you hear and see. We have to keep these beasts contained within the Downs. The only condition is if the Lady de Brie arrives or word of her whereabouts.”
The crossbow arrived. Faith checked that it was loaded and asked if the barb of the bolt had been dipped in the God’s water. The soldier said that it had. She thanked the captain and then cradling the weapon in her lap, reined her mare towards the square and galloped back to the stables.
James had just helped Father Portis mount up. “How do you want to do this?” he asked, swinging his tall strong frame up behind the priest.
“There’s no time to flank them. We ride straight and hard for Briar’s Bridge. I’ll keep them off you if we happen to draw their attention.”
“How, Milady,” Father Portis asked. James looked just as disturbed by her idea as the aged priest.
“Perhaps you should ride with Father Portis, and I …”
“James, just do as you are told.”
“You won’t be holding anything off with that,” the priest said, nodded towards the crossbow in her lap.
“We’ll see.” She gave James a grim nod, and spurred her mount towards the flames and the horror unfolding across the square before they could argue with her. Nearly every building facing the square had been torched. Glass windows were shattering in the heat and thick smoke billowed up into the night, adding its weight to the veil of wetting mist. People were dashing from burning doorways only to be rundown in the street, and slaughtered by one of the horsemen. Faith counted eleven horsemen doing their bloody work. From the smashing of glass, and cries of pain and fear coming from further afield, she guessed that some of the riders were working their way down neighbouring streets and deeper into the quarter.
The noise was covering their approach, but there was no way they’d make the mouth of the King’s Way let alone all the way back to Briar’s Bridge without being seen.
Faith felt a chill touch her skin and glanced to her right. One of the horsemen, having just dispatched a woman and her child in front of a burning inn, was watching them from his saddle, slowly bringing his horse around. He was little more than a robed figure in the distance but his presence radiated the confidence and menace of a cat watching a scurrying mouse.
“Ride for the gate, and don’t look back. And warn those you pass to remain in doors,” Faith shouted above the hammering hooves of their mounts. At that she wheeled to the right, making a beeline for the horseman and praying her plan would work.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
With the horseman almost upon her, Faith held on to her mount with her knees, brought the crossbow up in both hands and sighted down the shaft of the bolt at the man’s horse and pulled the lever. The bolt leaped from the weapon and smashed into the animal’s skull. To her relief the god’s water had some effect for the horse pitched forward and cart wheeled, throwing its robed rider. The wraith landed on the cobbles in a clatter of armour and rolled away. Not about to give him the chance to find his feet and buoyed by the fact the god’s water seemed to have worked, Faith drew her sword and wheeled back to finish him off. He got as far as his hands and knees before she lent down from her saddle and plunged the point of her sword into his back. The wraith grunted and dropped face down onto the cold cobble.
A whinny and the scuttle of hooves on cobble caught Faith’s attention and she brought her horse around and watched in disbelief as the horse she’d just killed got back up. The shaft of the bolt buried in its head had burst into flames, and now it crumbled to ashes as if it had never been. A man began to chuckle sardonically. Faith looked back at the felled wraith and found that he was also getting back to his feet. A kick to her horses’ flanks and she rode at him, her sword at the ready. He deflected her blade, as she knew he would and she opened his back with an arching stroke as she rode past. The blow would have killed an ordinary man, but the horseman merely staggered and turned to face her, chuckling again. With the flames leaping from the windows of a nearby building she could see his ragged features, a greying plaited beard speckled with blood splatter, a head of long hair and dark eyes that filled her soul with unwelcome fear.
“Ya’ can’t kill that which is already dead, my sweet little flower. And it’s hardly fitting that the future queen of our new lord Hand should attack her subjects so, don’t you think?”
Faith was so shocked by this she had not heard a second horseman ride up behind her. But she felt the edge of his sword press against her neck and froze.
“Best you be on your way, Milady. Our Hand would not want his precious flower harmed.”
Precious flower! That was what Kane had called her when the de Brie children had come to Wanstead castle to stay during the summer crusades to the walls of this city. She had not heard that phrase in years, and these abominations of men could not know such things. Yet they did.
“Your precious Hand can still bleed, so you’d best keep him away from me or bleed he will.”
Both men laughed in that fearless way familiar amongst old warriors who had faced death and now knew no fear.
“Ya’ can’t change the fates, Lady Galloway. You’re destined to be Lord Kane’s bride, and so it will be. Now off with you.” The horseman withdrew his sword and dealt a hard slap to her horse’s rump, setting the animal skittering. Faith watched them, angry, confused and scared, and not sure what to say. What was there to say? No fate was going to tell her what should or should not be. Kane’s bride? She would die first. Turning her back on the horsemen’s taunting banter she rode over to a nearby alley where she had seen a little boy in a nightgown hiding amid the rubbish, watching her engage the horsemen. When she called him to come, he bolted from cover, took her outstretched hand and she swung him up behind her.
“Ya’ can’t save them all, your highness …”
“Go back to where you came from and leave this city alone,” Faith said, casting one last glance over at the horsemen, the one she had unhorsed was climbing back onto his tall stallion.
“I’m afraid we can’t do that. But do
n’t fret; you’ll learn to love the taste of blood, just as our Hand is this night.”
***
“We should not have let her stay behind, sir,” Father Portis said.
“The First Sword of Corenbald is more than capable of taking care of herself,” James replied. Though he was concerned. More than concerned. It should have been him clearing the way, not Faith, not Corenbald’s heir.
As they rounded a corner in the roadway they came upon what could only be described as a slaughter. At least thirty palace guardsmen, some common soldiers, others knights, lay butchered in the street. A fire crackled in a nearby building. In the distance they could hear the siege bell tolling and the sound of the Twenty Three as they continued their carnage through the Downs.
Father Portis made the sign of protection, and quietly uttered the prayer of safe journey for the dead.
James hesitated a moment, and looked back the way they had come, wondering at the priest’s concerns. Had he taken leave of Faith too easily? One ambassador abducted and possibly lost this night was already one too many. But she wouldn’t have listened to him anyway and there had hardly been time to debate the wisdom of her orders as they galloped across the square.
The clip clop of hooves drew their attention across the street to a dark alley just in time to see a horseman emerge out of the deep shadows and into the flickering firelight. He held a young woman in front of him, his mouth was at her bloodied neck and he appeared to be suckling. The girl was whimpering. Her wide tear-filled eyes found them across the street.
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