At Arms

by A. Rosaria

  He looked back. The iron ringlet of his chain mail rustled under his leather armor. He breathed deeply. His blue eyes settled on her uneasily.

  "Lady…" How many times had he said this and how many times more would he have to say it? Their escort already lagged behind about twenty paces. Tired of her constant whimpering, nagging, and pleading. Who could blame the poor brat? Her fate was already set in stone and no one was willing to change that.

  He wished he had never made that bet. It was such a lowly task for a warrior of his esteem, being the escort of carrion, and him being the cart driver made it worse. With no horse under him, he had to be content with the hard, splinter-prone plank under his bum. He would rather be in charge of a breach than do this one ungrateful task. A task with a certain sad outcome.

  "Please, good sir. Let me go," she said.

  He sighed. How could one not pity one such as her? She was still in her prime, so much good yet to come, but that would soon be cut short. Why couldn‘t she accept her fate and stop that spoiled bawling. It had been two days. She slumped to a doze during the day and nearing the evening, she would start with her whimpering and pleading as if the upcoming darkness stirred the fear within her. Being young and the daughter of the lord was no excuse. It was by her father‘s command she die, and die she would.

  "Please, let me go. I pray, don‘t let them–"

  "Listen." He wished she would shut the hell up. "Lady Christine…"

  With her big eyes, she looked as if he was about to tear her apart and eat her up. Her lips parted to say something.

  "Stop this now," he bellowed. "Stop this braying of yours and behave like the highborn lady you are."

  "If I am such a highborn lady, then why am I traveling in a cage on a cart with this many guards?"

  He held his lips tight. His lord told him in no way to argue with her, to be deaf to her pleas, her schemes, and disbelieve anything she uttered. Lord Robert‘s words, her father‘s words.

  "My father orders me away without his blessings and farewell."

  Ambos had rejected the task at first. His lord, out of respect for his services, hadn‘t press him despite being displeased with his answer. Still, here he was. His lord might not have pressed him, but he lured him into a wager, a wager he lost. A wager he had to pay now by doing this task he didn‘t much like. To soften this burden, he was promised land and a title, as if he wanted that. He had seen too much in this world without a God, a world full of superstitious beliefs, beliefs that set him on this path.

  "Sir Thorne, please."

  "I‘m not a knight, just a soldier."

  "I‘m not daft. I know your intentions."

  She knew nothing, only suspicion. Nobody dared tell her anything, as was instructed by her father. Orders he blindly followed.

  "Do you believe in witches, demons, and the like?" she asked softly.

  The quiver in her voice made him uneasy. Knowing what he had seen in many battles, he knew who the real monsters were–humans.

  "Doesn‘t matter what I think."

  "Doesn‘t it? Not even when you are the one to end my life?"

  He stayed silent, looking ahead into the thick fog forming in front of them that made it seem as if the trees were closer, branches interlocked and forming a natural tunnel. They were close to the rendezvous point, an hour at most until they reached the clearing.

  "Please, I beg you, do it quickly. Don‘t make me suffer so."

  The hard, splintered wood he sat on, this damn job, and her incessant whining–his day couldn‘t get worse. Damn the kings and queens and their silly games and customs.

  "Please–"

  "It won‘t be my hand killing you."

  The cart wobbled sideways when she charged forward, stuck her hands out and grabbed him by the shoulder. For a moment, he felt himself pulled with incredible force, but he soon recovered his balance. The silly girl was barely holding onto him. Her hot breath struck his neck near his ear.

  "If it‘s not you, then whose hand will it be?"

  "Sit back before you hurt yourself."

  Lord Robert told him not to tell her in any way what was about to happen, to keep her thinking it was just for her safety they transported her so, which was a difficult one to explain since she was locked up in an iron cage and heavily guarded. The old man didn‘t make it easy on him. He pulled the reins and the cart stopped. He signaled the men to halt and stay a distance away. He turned around to her, sitting back down. He looked her in her eyes–soft, big, and almond-shaped eyes.

  "Lady Catherine, you deserve the truth."

  Her face lit up, and a smile almost formed on her tender lips.

  "Someone threatened your father. He implored me to escort you somewhere safe and far away from him."

  A shade fell on her face; the edges of her lips drooped a little. "Is he safe?"

  "He can handle himself."

  "My sisters? My little brother?"

  "They are all safe."

  "I didn‘t see them leave when we left."

  "Well, they did, just like you‘re safe and far away."

  She lowered her chin, averting her eyes from him. "Why then the red eyes I saw on them when you took me?"

  He couldn‘t remember seeing them present when he escorted her away. He found her standing in the middle of the room, alone. She must have been daydreaming. Young, highborn ladies and their fantasies.

  "Your father sent them away after we left. We were the first to go."

  Her face soured. She pouting her lips, sat sideways, and turned her head away, showing him the back of her head. "Lies, all lies."

  He shouldn‘t have bothered talking to her or tried to give her some peace of mind. It was to no avail anyway. Her fate was set, and she probably knew this already. He signaled the guards to go on. He slapped the reins, and the horses pulled the cart forward. Soon he would deliver her to her destination and soon after she wouldn‘t be his problem anymore. He gritted his teeth. That wasn‘t true; the outcome would stay with him. Leaving an innocent girl in the hands of the inquisition to be tried for witchcraft and demonic possession–how could Lord Robert blame his own daughter for the killings happening lately? Sure, they were gruesome, but men were capable and had done many similar atrocities. It was superstitious to blame it on mythical creatures. Robert urged him to oversee the rite of banishment, to assure him the evil in Catherine had been vanquished, in the hopes that after this the murders would end. These rites always ended in death for the presumed witch or victim.

  He felt a bad taste in his mouth. He spat, but found it dry. What did it make him, following orders this closely and knowing it was wrong? It was treasonous not to follow orders, and in this case, it was worse because he and Robert had some kind of friendship. That was as far one could be friends with one‘s lord, him being highborn and Ambos base-born. His unwillingness to betray set him up for murder. He had no qualms about killing people, anyone but those he deemed innocent. Innocent blood stained forever, never able to be wash off.

  The clearing came in sight. The trees parted and with them the fog dissipated in front of his eyes. It lay low to the ground, covering the grass and fallen leaves and branches in a snow-like white. Ahead he saw them, three men in dark robes. Their faces were covered by their hoods. He stopped the cart fifteen feet from them. The hooded man in the middle stepped forward.

  "We have been waiting for you." He shot a glance past Ambos at Lady Christine. "And for this wicked creature."

  Just a girl, Ambos thought. A scared girl sent away by her father to die at the hands of these so-called holy men. Ambos chuckled.

  "This is not something to mock. Hurry up and take her off the cart. Night is approaching."

  The guards dismounted. Two left the group to take care of the horses, and two others opened the cage. Lady Christine, staring ahead and oblivious to them, let them escort her off the cart. Ambos jumped off and stretched, glad to be off that wooden, infernal thing. Lady Christine, with a guard at each side, walked past
him. She stopped and turned her head toward him. Some light returned into her dull eyes upon seeing him. A guard yanked her by the elbow, but she didn‘t budge.

  "Please, Sir Ambos, don‘t allow them to do this."

  There was no point to lie to her now; there never really was to begin with, because it was all too clear from the start what this was about. Only someone naive or delusional would still believe this was something else. He thought she was neither of them, spoiled yes, a brat in way, but not dumb. He shook his head, not knowing what to say.

  "I‘m not a monster. I‘m not," she said.

  Using more force, the guards dragged her away. She looked once more at him, her eyes pleading what her mouth wasn‘t. It felt uncomfortable being in this situation and carrying the weight of going along with it. He knew why he endured this. His lord ordered him to oversee her cleansing. Cleansing, a soft way to say killing. That was what it was. These holy men were about to murder an innocent girl and he was the one to make sure they did this undisturbed. There were twenty guards around them for if he changed his mind and tried to safe her. He‘d fought greater odds before, but he was much younger then.

  Following the small group, they came upon a pyre. A pole stood erect in the center of it.

  "Fasten her," the hooded man said, pointing at the pole.

  Without question, grim-faced, the guards dragged a slumped Christine along with them. Poor girl has lost all fight, Ambos thought. They weren‘t even going to have a mock trial and confession to keep up pretenses; they were just going to burn her right there. Her eyes were wide with fear, watching on defenseless as the guards fastened her. He had fallen from a renowned warrior to a burner of children, of an innocent girl. His hand on the hilt of his sword itched. Realizing he held the hilt, he let go.

  "Doesn‘t she deserve a trial first?"

  The hooded man faced him, his cold eyes barely visible through the shade that fell on his face. "We know her for what she is, a deceiver and a killer. There need be no trial or confession, only a burning and quickly so."

  The two companions of the man who stood on each side of the pyre started chanting in Latin.

  "Before night falls it must be done."

  "Why?"

  "Because her evil will then be at its strongest."

  "Stupid nonsense. How can you be so sure she is a demon? I‘ve never seen one and I‘ve been to a lot of places and seen horrors most have not."

  "The night carries horrors few have seen, even to those like you."

  The hooded man grabbed a torch, walked to the burning campfire the guards had made and lit the torch. The men sitting around the campfire looked away. Good, Ambos thought. At least he was not alone in finding this disturbing, but just like them, he‘d do nothing about it.

  The hooded man walked to the pyre. Ambos followed, his hand instinctively again on the hilt of his sword. A few guards stood at a distance, watching with grim faces. The hooded man raised his arms and chanted a prayer. He waved the torch above his head. The last trace of sunlight at his back cast its light on Lady Christine. Her eyes were red from crying, and her lips trembled. She cast a last pleading look at Ambos and shut her eyes tightly, tears streaming from them.

  "Stop this insanity," Ambos roared.

  The hooded man lowered his arm to lick the pyre with the flame of his torch.

  "No," Ambos cried.

  He slashed his sword down, cutting the man‘s arm. It fell to the ground. The flames were inches away from the pyre. Blood spurted out, wetting Lady Christine. The man stumbled away from Ambos and fell face down in the dirt. The other two hooded monks ran for the torch. Ambos cut them down. The last sunlight disappeared from the sky, casting Lady Christine in shade. Ambos saw her smiling; a chill went up his back.

  The guards came running at him with drawn swords. Twenty men. He‘d pay with his life in their blood. He ducked under the swing of the first and bashed him out of the way with his shoulder. Swinging his sword upward, he slashed the second one‘s face and severed the next one‘s leg. He swung back at the first one and cut him down the shoulder. He cleaved his sword out just in time to slash at the next one, who managed to jump back in time. The remaining guards formed a semicircle around him, backing him down while throwing curses at him. He bashed the head in of one that got too close. He was a young man still, not much older than Lady Christine. Ambos gritted his teeth, yelled and charged forward, slashing. Two more went down before another guard bashed a shield against Ambos‘ head. He staggered backward. A guard swung a sword to sever his head. In his hurry to get out of reach, Ambos tripped and fell. He looked up at the pyre and saw an empty pole. The girl was gone.

  The cry of men ran into the night. He heard the sound of steel tearing and ripping flesh, and crushing bones. He crawled up at the sight of the dismembered bodies of the guards who, a moment ago, were standing victorious over him. In the middle of the guards‘ torn bodies stood Lady Christine, licking her bloodied fingers and carefully running her tongue on her sharp claw-like nails. She glanced at him and smiled wickedly. All innocence was gone. She closed the distance, walking seductively toward him. She was not the young brat he had transported, but a foul woman. She stood in front of him smiling.

  Ambos thrust his sword in her chest. He couldn‘t believe what he had done. After all he had seen, he couldn‘t deny the truth anymore or how wrong he was. She spat blood on his sword and sword hand. Blood seeped through the ends of her smirk. She locked eyes with him. Ambos gritted his teeth and twisted his sword. No scream, no last breath, she only stood still, watching him intently. About to pull out the sword, she grabbed his arm and stopped him.

  "How much I should thank you," she said, "for you‘ve been my white knight, my savior."

  She pulled him closer. The sword slid in deeper, the wet sound of meat on steel. He tried to pull away, but she held fast with much more strength than he expected from a slender, cushion fed, never-done-any-manual-work lady.

  "It‘s only proper I thank you for this."

  He saw a flash of sharp teeth and felt it puncture his neck. His body shook with the ferocity in which she sucked his blood out and soon after he stiffened. The trees faded, as did the carnage around him. She pushed him away. Falling, he saw her contracted face, fouled mouth with his blood, and sharp, long canine teeth.

  All thought left him before he hit the ground dead.

  FARMER JAMES

  James sat down on a stone near a tall tree. The sun, close to the horizon, sat among dark clouds drifting in the sky. He knew the dirt road ran a distance to his left and it would be far easier had he used it instead of running beside it, but they would have caught him following. He lost them a while ago. James spat on the ground. His back, legs, and arms hurt. Life on a farm was hard and made him strong and healthy, but to keep up for two days with a cart and horses, and with little rest, was straining even for him.

  James was a tall man, a giant to most. Hard work had chiseled his body in a sculpture of muscle. At seventeen, a young man, a whelp to some, he could challenge most with his strength, and women didn‘t seem to care about his age. They preferred his charm over that of many other men. He breathed deeply, gathered himself, and stood back up. He might be able to get any girl in his village, but he loved only one and she‘d been taken away from him.

  Leaving the cover of the trees, he went down a path toward the dirt road. In the dim light he saw the cartwheel trail on the dirt and horses‘ hoof prints around it. Many guards, close to twenty, and probably not enough.

  James had little time left. He followed the trail. Were the sun to go down in its entirety, he wouldn‘t be able to follow the trail by sight, and before he could again, they would be too far for him to ever catch up. He put his hand on the rusted knife stuck in his belt. He had to make sure that it was done. However, darkness fell quickly on the land. He ran up the road, hoping to catch any glimpse of light ahead or hear the squeaky wheels of the cart. He didn‘t and came to a stop at the point the road split. The main road
kept going straight, but a narrower path verged off into the forest.

  A cry broke the night, followed by shrill screams of agony, and as sudden as it started, it stopped. He ran up the path, away from the main road. All thought of being caught left his mind. A fire burned ahead. A pyre for her. He closed the distance fast and then he saw her. He stumbled and fell to his knees. He slowly got up, ignoring the throbbing pain in his joints.

  The torn corpses of the guards littered the ground darkened with their blood. James looked with disgust at the body parts strewn on the earth and at the torn armor. Nothing could protect men against her if she could rip steel this easily.

  She stood over the corpse of an old knight. Her bloodied gown stuck to her body, showing all the curves of her delightful figure, as if she was a woman fully grown instead of the girl he knew she was. She knelt on one knee and raised a claw in the air, ready to slash and tear the corpse apart like she did the others. Blasphemy. James yelled at her to draw her attention to him. She turned her head, looked him up and down and back up again. She licked her lips and with baffling speed she stood up. Her eyes pierced his and a wicked smile formed on her lips, from lush to grotesque.

  “You‘ve come from far away my farmer boy. You must want more of me.”

  He pulled his knife, hoping she wouldn‘t notice it for what it was.

  “I see you got a new toy. From the looks of it, this one doesn‘t need me to break it for you.” She laughed mockingly.

  He curtailed his rage. She took his betrothed away from him, fed on her, and discarded her like she was dirt. She made him watch it, powerless to do anything to help his love.

  She walked closer and sniffed the air. “Yes, you loved it; I could feel you throbbing inside me.”