“Give me the rope.” Louis turned to the others. “Send the horses away. Take your stand!”
Selen tossed Louis the rope, dismounted, and slapped his horse’s rear. Grabbing one end of the rope, Selen ran behind a wall on the side. Ahanu, Lissandro, and Eliot joined him and grasped their share. In the yard, the rope had sunk in the snow. It only took a few seconds for their pursuers to reach the clearing. Despite the several footsteps in the snow, the riders didn’t slow down, probably following the noise of their horses and the several tracks that led to the other side of the ruins. Selen and his companions yanked the rope with all their strength. The shock was so violent that they didn’t hold their grip more than an instant. Yet, it was enough for the horses to stumble forward, launching their riders to the ground. Selen unsheathed his sword and jumped over the low wall.
Two men in mail and plate were blocked under their mounts. Askjell and Folc used their misericordes to finish them off, pushing the blades through the visor of the bassinets. The rest of the bandits dismounted and launched the assault. None of them appeared to carry a bow. Selen blocked the way of the enemy he considered the most dangerous judging by his assurance and nasty smirk. The man wore a worn-out brigandine, and half of his face was hidden under a sallet. Instead of rushing towards him as Selen had hoped, his adversary kept his distance, his sword hand high, ready to strike. He wants me to attack first. Selen couldn’t allow himself a long fight. He was the best fighter of their group. Askjell was untrained, Ahanu, unarmed, and he didn’t remember seeing the monk leave the wall. He tossed his sword aside and knelt down in the most pitiful pose.
“Please,” he murmured with his sweetest voice. “I’ll be a good girl.”
The man moved closer but held his sword tight. Selen kept his face low and shrank his shoulders, letting the man come near and break his own defense space. The man grasped him by the hair.
“I may keep you alive a little while,” he said in a lewd voice. The bandit’s hand loosened on the hilt as he spoke.
Selen drew out his dagger he held under his cloak. In a blink of an eye, his left hand grabbed the loose hilt while his right hand sliced the man’s unprotected thigh in the artery. Surprised by the pain, the bandit howled and freed Selen’s hair. Selen rose and stabbed him through the throat.
“I don’t wear a helmet to see my adversaries,” Selen whispered.
The dead man fell to the ground. I’m not proud of it, but it was fast. Selen picked up his sword and looked for the next enemy. One man who rushed towards him was hit on the head by a stone and stumbled down. Ahanu stood behind him. The Child carried no sword, but he could aim. Selen flickered a smile at him and turned around. He was preparing himself for the next fight when he heard a loud, deep sound. The forest resounded with horns. One of the bandits ran back towards the river and disappeared from his sight. Selen heard a scream. The man faltered back inside the yard and fell, a pitchfork stuck in his back.
From all around, men stepped forward. Their weapons were nothing more than agricultural tools. They were all wrapped in the same plain coats with sugar-loaf hats or bonnets. The girl appeared from behind one of them. Could they be the villagers? Selen glanced at his companions. Though some panted and had their hands covered with blood, none of them seemed wounded. The two bandits left dropped their swords and raised their hands. Yet, the villagers didn’t lower their forks. The circle closed around them. An older man who stood near the girl stepped into the yard, accompanied by a few unpleasant yokels. His face was austere. But not only his. All the villagers stared at them with defiance. It made Selen feel uneasy. Yet, he could not blame them for showing precaution. Louis walked towards their leader.
“We thank you for your help. Thanks to your intervention, none of us was injured.”
The leader remained silent and expressionless. Selen met the girl’s eyes. It wasn’t defiance. It was hate. It’s a trap. Selen scurried towards Louis, who drew closer to the leader.
“We were on our way to—” One of the yokels passed behind Louis and hit the back of his head.
“No!” Selen shouted as his friend collapsed onto the snow.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the villagers rush on them. Someone tackled him down before he reached Louis’s body. In a desperate attempt, he stretched out his arm forward but felt the pressure of the men over him. A blow to his head made him lose consciousness.
29
Lissandro woke up with his face in the mud. He tried to rise, but his arms and hands were tied tight over his back. His head spun and throbbed with pain. He narrowed his eyes. Louis lay a few steps from him. A thin streak of blood crossed his cheek. Lissandro had seen him fall and remembered Selen’s screams. He feared the worse until he saw that his friend was bound as well. Louis’s eyes fluttered open and widened. He sat up straight and glanced around with panic. Pressing on his legs, Lissandro raised his chest and knelt. Dark, wooden houses with turf roofs stood here and there. They had been transported to the village. The villagers had gathered around them. Men, women, and some children, they were all dressed in the same dark brown gowns, tunics, and cloaks and stared at them sternly. Lissandro looked behind him. His companions shared his misfortune, even the two bandits who sat in the back. Their coats and swords had been removed. Folc and Kilda, who had fought back, wore darkened bruises on their faces. Selen’s long, lilac hair was a tangled mass of mud under his waist, and his head nodded of soreness. Only Ahanu sat, proud and uninjured, staring at their captors.
“The gods brought you to our village.”
Lissandro turned around. The village leader stood in front of him. Straight as a statue and wrapped in his black frock, the man didn’t lower his face. His eyes shone from under his bushy eyebrows, staring at him as if he was no more than a dead mouse or horseshit. His thin, chapped lips bore a faint smile of contentment.
“You butchered our brothers,” the leader said. His voice was as cold and deep as his cadaveric, carved cheeks.
“You’re misled. We didn’t kill any villager,” Louis said.
The leader tilted his head. The girl they had rescued appeared at his side. She still had clotted blood on her brow but had changed her dress for a plain brown one. She glowered at Louis with disgust. “I saw them, Reverend. They killed our brothers with the most devilish cruelty.”
“Oh. That scum,” Louis muttered. With unsteadiness and wincing with pain, Louis rose and stood up. He looked straight at the reverend. “Sorry for your loss.”
Lissandro chuckled. Despite the ache in his limbs and in his head, he got up. Should they face an inquisition, they could as well do it with style.
“Those men were on their way to redeem the world’s sins. In all her generosity, my own daughter was to give her life to lift the punishment striking our country.” The reverend’s words were received with whispers of approvals from his community.
“The disease is not a punishment, you religious morons,” Louis sighed. “It’s a sanitary problem.”
“It is a punishment,” The reverend insisted. “Caused by abominations like you. Demon. King of Gehenna.”
Louis rolled his eyes with consternation. “I’ll add that one to my list of titles.”
“Those libertarian laws of yours will plunge our culture into chaos,” the reverend exclaimed. The villagers approved and nodded.
Louis smirked. “Name me one.”
The reverend hesitated. His lips quivered. “You gave rights and protection to women and widows to steal them from their husbands and fathers.” The crowd uttered its anger. Some people raised fists. “The servants do not lower their heads with humility anymore but stare at their masters. Soon they will stare at the gods.” The reverend raised his arms to the sky theatrically.
The villagers shouted with revulsion. A few men who held ropes with knots scourged themselves. Women spat in their group’s direction. The reverend sneered at the sight of his success.
“You teach science to our children, but no word of the gods is
spread in their schools. You keep them away from the holy message and damn their souls,” the reverend carried on with broad gestures as a wizard casting spells.
The villagers flung themselves on the earth, pulling their hair and ripping their shirts in the most exuberant ways. “The gods have mercy on us!” they yelled.
Lissandro tried hard not to burst out in laughter. He met Louis’s eyes. His friend shrugged.
“I am at a loss for words,” Louis whispered with sarcasm.
The reverend stepped in front of Louis. “And in your wish to institutionalize sins, you even went further,” the man eructed in his face. “You wallow in lechery with a man you call your queen, fornicating with him as if he were a woman. But your whore will never be our sovereign. The Holy Book only recognizes the bonds between one man and one woman.”
Louis laughed. Lissandro waited impatiently for the backstroke. “We already united each other in the sight of the gods.” He held the reverend’s gaze. “And they didn’t complain. The gods approve honesty and love.”
“Congratulations,” Lissandro whispered towards Selen.
“Why for?” Selen whispered back.
“It’s a sin to dedicate your love to someone else than the gods, and your pathetic union is an outrage towards the purity of our women,” the reverend said.
“The purity of your women,” Louis sneered. “They would have their asses rammed hard by a bull and praise heaven for every blast in their dry, puckered cunts should the beast pretend to be a god giving them holy unction. Yet, it would put a grin on their haggish faces for once.”
“That was flowery,” Lissandro muttered with a titter. He gave a quick look at the crowd, expecting to see hands on ears, but they listened with attention.
“Shut your blasphemous mouth,” the reverend raged at Louis.
“I don’t insult the gods. I insult you, your community of hypocrites, and your tiresome chattering. You despise the world, soil the notions of respect and freedom, and call your barbarism the hand of God. You are savages.”
“The gods sent a plague to wipe out the world because the men have turned wicked and lewd.” The reverend raised his arms to the sky. “Hear our prayers, you almighty gods! Only the righteous will escape your judgment and be saved. Behold those haters full of malice, envy, and greed. Those who practice such things are worthy of death. Destruction will strike them. Clouds of beasts will fall over their heads. Those sinners will burn in the blazing mouths of hell. Trevalden needs a revival of the faith for the glory of the gods!”
“Hallelujah!” Lissandro shouted. “Come on. Someone give me an amen!”
“Your minds are so corrupted that you would not recognize the gods should they demean themselves to step into your wretched village,” Louis said. “You would burn them at the stake.”
“Irreverent filth. It’s you who will burn at the stake. But the gods will grant you mercy should you renounce your sins and turn towards the Church. Repent yourself.”
Louis lowered his head and mumbled a few words. The reverend moved closer. “I don’t hear y—” Louis spat in his face.
“The gods will judge you for your sins,” the reverend puffed while cleaning his cheek. “Spilling your sinful blood will preserve us from the pestilence.” He turned to his group of yokels. “Take that scum out of my sight.”
“I will wipe out your community! People with morals will return to the virtues of religion. A purer one!” Louis shouted as the yokels bore him away.
Lissandro was pushed alongside his friend. The rest of their group was dragged behind. The yokels led them into a cabin on the side. Their bags already lay in a corner. Along a wall, jails had been built. They were thrown inside one. Lissandro stumbled against Askjell. He heard the metallic noise of the bolt as the gate closed behind them. The yokels spat in their direction and left the cabin.
“Have you guys ever heard of the word negotiate?” Kilda grumbled.
“You don’t negotiate with fanatics,” Lissandro answered.
“They proposed us mercy,” Askjell moaned, scared.
“Their definition of mercy is to strangle you before they put fire to your pyre,” Louis said.
“But how will we get out of here?” Selen asked.
“First, we should remove our bounds,” Lissandro said.
“I can help you with that,” Folc said.
The boy turned his back to his and proceeded to untie the rope with one hand. Folc’s nimble fingers completed the task in a short time. The rope fell. Lissandro’s arms could move again. He stretched them to remove the stiffness and numbness before he untied Selen, who in turn released the rest of their companions.
Lissandro touched the bars and pulled at them. The metal was solid and in good state. He examined the lock.
“It’s too complex. I saw the key. We can’t pick it,” Folc said.
“Please untie us,” one of the bandits said. The two men sat in the adjacent cell.
“Why would we do such a thing?” Askjell asked. “You wanted to kill us.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Selen said. He was reaching for one of the men’s ropes when Louis stopped him.
“Why did you want to kill us?” Louis asked. The men hesitated and exchanged looks. “Did you hope Nysa Serin would pay a ransom for my head?”
The bandits looked at him, surprised. “Nysa Serin? A ransom? No. We were paid to capture you.”
“By whom?” Louis insisted. The men stayed silent. “Your silence won’t help you out of here.”
“These men are scum. Their words have no worth anyway,” Eliot said. Louis ignored the monk.
“We don’t know their names,” one of the bandits said. “They must have been rich as they gave us a lot. I remember their seal, though. A rose and a snake.”
Lissandro saw by the way Louis narrowed his eyes that his friend knew this symbol. Yet, he would not ask. Not now. He had the feeling that not all in their group could be trusted. Selen untied the bandits.
“This is a peculiar sign,” Kilda said. “We will have to keep our eyes open.”
“It is not of importance right now,” Louis said. He paced in the jail, controlling the corners. “What I want is to get out of here. I don’t want to end like the Chevalier de la Barre.”
“It is, indeed, a possibility that after your kind words, they want to add torture to your execution,” Lissandro said.
They inspected the jail in search of a flaw. After a while, Lissandro had to face the fact that their efforts were in vain. They would not escape the metal bars. His worry grew. He thought of his capacities, but none of them increased his strength to that point. He looked at his companions. Selen stared through the window which was on the other side of the bars. Folc studied the lock. Ahanu and Kilda sat, resigned.
“They can’t kill me,” a pale-green Eliot said to a prostrated Askjell. “I’m a monk. I believe in the gods.”
“Me too,” Louis said. “But it’s not the question. You are in our group and thus have corrupted your soul. You will burn.”
“Men are coming this way,” Selen said.
The door opened. Without a word, the yokels opened the jail next to theirs and dragged the bandits out.
“No! Please. What are you going to do to us? We are not with them,” one of the bandits exclaimed, holding to the bars of his jail. He turned towards Lissandro. “Tell them we are your enemies. We are good believers!”
“Shut up, rascals,” one of the yokels said, hitting the man’s fingers. “Common rogues are sinners and should be punished for their crimes. You can’t escape the hands of the gods.” The yokel pushed the crying man and his accomplice outside the cabin. Lissandro heard their moans fade away.
Another villager opened their gate. He stepped in and took away the ropes. “You could still hang yourselves with these,” he sneered. “We’ll also take one of you.” He grabbed Folc by his tunic. “You’re coming with us.”
Folc struggled and looked at them with wild eyes. He scream
ed with terror. “Please, no. I don’t want to die!”
“No!” Selen rushed on the villager, kicked him, and held on to Folc’s waist.
Louis hurried to the other side and grabbed Folc’s arms. “You won’t take the boy!”
“You will all be dead soon anyway.” The other brutes helped their companion and pulled harder on the boy’s wrists. On the verge of being torn apart, Folc shouted with pain.
“But not the boy,” Selen insisted and clenched Folc’s torso. “He is—”
“Family,” Louis said. “Take me instead.”
“No! Take me,” Selen exclaimed. “Leave the boy alone.”
“You two are tomorrow’s highlight,” the villager grumbled. “Clear off.”
As the yokels tried to shove them away, their grip on Folc loosened. The boy, Selen, and Louis stumbled backwards. Lissandro and the rest of their group gathered in front of them to show their support. Irritated, the yokels pulled out knives and the ropes.
“They won’t leave until they get what they want. I volunteer,” Askjell said and stepped forward.
“No one volunteers,” Louis objected. “We won’t give them any of our own.”
“I am the only one here who is expendable,” Askjell said to Louis. “You were right. I shamed you and the group. I behaved like a coward and a fool. Let me redeem myself.”
“It doesn’t mean you have to die,” Louis insisted.
“At least, it is for a good cause,” Askjell said. One of the yokels tied his hands.
Lissandro approached his squire. He could have taken his place. Yet, should they torture him, he might lose control of his nature, and, should he lose the fight, this would mean unbearable torments for his friends. His only hope was that they still could come up with a plan before these fanatics hurt the boy. “I’m sorry, Askjell. I dragged you here. All of this is my fault.” Askjell forced a smile. His blue eyes were filled with disillusion and anguish.
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 30
