Angie Arms - Flames series 04

by The Strongest Flames

  She seemed kind, which made him feel guilty for not doing more when he left the rundown dwelling. He did leave her with enough coin to make her own way in the world, if she so chose. She could leave her little hovel and afford a decent home, she could buy clothes, and have a chance at finding a good husband, so she would not have to turn her own child into a whore, if she were to have one. The choice would be hers and Garrick left her, knowing he did all he could do for the woman he did not know.

  He did not make it from the small dwellings before a woman’s voice called him from the shadows. His first choice was to ignore her, he had no use for whores. No matter how long he would be separated from his lovely wife, whores had no appeal for him. Against his instincts he stopped, and turned, as the woman stepped from the shadows.

  “I have something for you,” she said, and from behind her she pulled a child. A young girl whose blond hair glowed in the moonlight, looked up at him, and he saw her blue eyes were rimmed in red. “She is a virgin, fit for a man of your stature. What price will you give me for her?”

  For a moment Garrick saw red. This could be his mother standing before him, offering his sister’s innocence, or even his own, for a little coin. He wanted to kill the woman. As quick as the thought came to his mind it left. This was the girl’s only hope, her only chance of survival in the harsh world she was born to. It was likely the woman before him was also sold at a tender age. Could fault be placed at the woman’s feet for trying to survive? Perhaps, just as much fault as could be placed at his own for the same.

  He dug into his coin pouch, pulling out a small amount. What was a small amount to him, was a windfall for the woman. The coin was barely in her hand before she shoved the little girl at him. The woman then turned and hurried away. Garrick quickly reached out and took the little girl’s hand in his, and pulled her along behind him. If the girl’s mother had friends, she could be on her way to them to tell them of the richly dressed man in their midst. He did not want to wait around to find out.

  The girl was an inconvenience to say the least. He had a job to do. But there was something about the little girl, with her blond hair and blue eyes, which made him think of his wife. She would move hell and high water to save the child from such a horrid fate. Perhaps, it was his chance to begin making penance for killing his friend. The thought left a bitter taste, as he hurried to the room at the little inn.

  He spared only enough time to throw his personal items in his bag, then dragged her back out the door, and threw her onto the back of his horse, Malik, as easily as he did the bag. Vaulting into the saddle behind her, he turned the horse and galloped away, toward Scotts Manor.

  He rode throughout the night, stopping late the next morning to rest Malik, and see that the girl got some food in her. The girl’s name was Lilly. She seemed frightened of him at first, but as he spoke with her and fed her, she seemed to relax. He saw intelligence in her, and knew Ryann would be delighted to have this child running about underfoot. As the girl ate her bread and cheese, Garrick could not help but let his mind wonder to his wife, waiting for him at home. One day there would be peace, he vowed, and there would be nothing that could pull him from her side.

  They rode throughout the day, stopping at night fall to make camp. With any luck he would be at Scotts Manor by the next evening.

  ~ ~ ~

  Warner swore to himself. If he was going to keep up with the Bastard, he would need a horse like his. He lost him sometime in the night, and now dawn was breaking, and he could find no sign the man passed here. Lucky for Warner, he knew he was going to Scotts Manor and kicked his horse into a run, in hopes he would not be far behind.

  He dug his spurs into his horse’s sides to get more speed. He had to watch. He never saw the Bastard kill, but he witnessed the results, and it was breathtaking, the precision, the way he used that large knife of his was artistic. Warner knew a man followed him to Helthpool, and killed himself after seeing what the Bastard did to the innocent lives there. He heard the rumor he was not a part of the massacre, but he did not believe that for a moment. The Bastard was like him, and could not deny himself the bloodletting of prey. Soon Warner would have the King’s confidence and he and the Bastard, together, could fill the oceans with the blood of the innocent.

  The anticipation sent his spurs into the sides of his horse again. He could hear her heavy breathing, feel her sides heaving, but he could always find another horse like her. What was important was he made it to Scotts Manor before the blood started flowing. He knew he was also to kill the Lord’s wife and her daughter. Warner enjoyed killing the children the most, taking their innocence violently. The women were next, many would do anything if they thought they were going to die. Men were usually the most difficult to kill, but Warner honed his skills over the years, and could wield his flail and ax with speed and accuracy. He liked to disable the men with a strike from his flail, and that usually put them completely at his mercy. He didn’t like to rush a kill, he liked to savor it like a fine wine, taste it, and smell it.

  He couldn’t wait to see how the Bastard would kill a man like Damien. He was a great leader, an even better soldier, but Warner knew he could not survive the Bastard. Perhaps he could catch up to Garrick, and they could make the wife and two children watch while they gutted Damien. They could have fun with them, while the man slowly died. Warner could hear the big man’s moans now, perhaps in the end he would even beg for death. Warner knew the Bastard, and he could make it possible. He could feel the small throat of one of the children in his hands, feel her fear, her stiffness that was pointless. He could easily tear bones from their sockets, that too was a heady feeling.

  Again his spurs went into the sides of his horse. He could dislocate all their bones, so they would experience pain as he maneuvered their bodies the way he wanted, and they could do nothing but scream. Suddenly, the horse fell from underneath him, and he landed hard in the road. Anger spiked within him, and he staggered to his feet. It would take him longer now, because his worthless horse could not keep up. He pulled the flail from its position strapped to his waist, and moved to the horse that lay on her side, heaving. The first blow to her head brought a scream, by the fifth she quieted, her skull smashed, but she still breathed shallowly. He did not finish her, knowing she would die soon enough, but deserved to be in agony before she did, because she failed him.

  He cleaned the blood, bone and brain matter from between the spikes of the balls, and sliding it back into its place, began walking. He walked for at least two hours before coming to the outskirts of the next village. He moved around it, and found what he was looking for on the other side. A cottage set back from the lane, the flowers in the window and well swept walkway told him the owner took pride in their little spot of land. The clothes hanging on the line told him there was a man, woman, baby and at least one other child that lived there. In the small shed in the back, was a horse standing in the adjacent paddock, and was his ultimate desire, but if the family was home, he could spare a moment.

  The door stood open, sliding the flail into his hand and behind his back, he stepped to the door.

  “Yes,” the woman questioned, rising from the hearth, and moving toward him.

  “I wondered if you could help me,” Warner said, stumbling into the small room.

  “What can I…” the woman began, as she stepped forward, her arms outstretched, as if she was ready to catch him.

  When she came within reach, he brought the flail out, feeling the weight of the two spiked balls drop to the end of the chains attached to the handle, before he swung it in an arc at her head. He wanted to just nock her down, so she could watch what he did to her children, before he finished her off, but the stupid bitch moved at the last minute, and he caught her in the temple. She was dead before her body hit the floor.

  The two children in the cabin were an infant still in the cradle, and a boy about four years old. He enjoyed the girls, not so much the boys, but they could still feel pain and suffer, so h
e felt only a small amount of disappointment. As the boy went to cry over his mother, Warner closed the door and window shutters, to muffle the screams that would soon be coming from the tiny cottage.

  ~ ~ ~

  Damn it, damn it, Garrick swore inside his mind, seeing the gates open for him, before he reached them. Didn’t Damien know the King would not bother to send an army for him, when one man could do the job? Garrick pulled Malik to a stop as he looked at the massive wall, with the gate ajar, he could see another wall of defense inside. It was obvious Damien did not know such a thing. With a light touch, he sent Malik through the gates and into the courtyard.

  He helped the girl to the ground, before planting his own feet there. “Lord Garrick, it is nice to see you.”

  Call me Bastard. Show me disrespect, his mind screamed at the approaching man. “Who do we have here?” Damien asked, his confused eyes darting to the girl who stood in front of Garrick. Pressed into him, was more precise.

  “This is Lilly. Perhaps Ryann will know what to do with her.”

  Damien threw his head back and laughed, a genuine sound of amusement. “She has rubbed off on you. I never thought it possible, but she has made you a gentleman. Come inside. I have much to tell you, and this one looks like she could have a meal or two.” Damien turned his back on them, and made his way into the large house.

  Garrick looked around himself. He had been inside Damien’s home before, but it was different now. He would be killing its owner, spilling his blood on the wooden floors, to soak into the carpets scattered around the hall and rooms. He wanted to turn and run. Not many things in his life, surprisingly enough, made him want to run away, but this situation did. He did not want to kill Damien, nor the Lady Keri. He especially did not want to kill her small daughter, who looked a great deal like her. But he knew the consequences of his failure, and he could not begin to think of the possibility he would not do the deed.

  Entering the dining room, Garrick pulled a chair out for the girl, and motioned that she was to sit in it. “Let me see to food for the two of you,” Damien said, excusing himself. Garrick tried to ask him where Keri was, but he was gone before he was able to hear the words.

  Garrick stood near the door, his arms crossed, his feet braced slightly apart, ignoring the girl who cast glances about herself and to him. Several minutes later Damien returned and invited Garrick to sit. Garrick had no intention of eating at Damien’s table, but the girl could stand to have a meal or two, and his own stomach was empty.

  “Where is Keri?” he asked, sinking into a chair next to the girl who looked relieved. He scowled at her, before turning his attention to the man sitting across from him.

  “I had to send her and the children away,” Damien explained.

  Garrick was relieved, but annoyed at the same time. It doesn’t matter, he scolded himself. I have to do it, regardless where they go.

  “The King wanted me and my army in Normandy. As you can see, I did not go. I am surprised he did not send for you.”

  The servant interrupted the drastic swing in the conversation, as she entered with a large tray of food. The evening meal was obviously already in preparations when he arrived, and the tantalizing smell of roast beef wafted to his nostrils, making his stomach growl in anticipation. The girl looked up at him with a grin on her face, and he returned it.

  The trio dug into the food, eating all that was offered, which was more than enough for them all. Garrick looked around the table at Damien, who looked to be enjoying food at his own table, away from the battlefield. Why wouldn’t he? Garrick knew he did. He wanted to be sitting at his own table at that very moment, next to his wife. Damien talked about the building of his walls, and other measures he took to prepare for the King’s army.

  From the corner of his eye he saw the girl yawn. Perhaps he could wait until morning to complete his task. The girl could use a comfortable night’s sleep. Perhaps she never had a comfortable night’s sleep.

  When Damien offered a place for them to sleep before continuing home, Garrick accepted, and motioned for the girl to follow him. When they reached the room she was to use and Garrick turned to leave, the girl ran to him and wrapped her arms around his leg. Patiently Garrick pried them away and set her away from him. Immediately tears appeared.

  Garrick tried to sooth her, but she continued to protest him leaving her. In the end, Garrick took her to his room, and settled her under the blankets. He lay down on the covers, and within moments he heard the steady breathing of her sleep. He knew tomorrow would be a very difficult day. He could not delude himself into thinking he was the man he once was. He had a wife and friends now, people his conscience told him to protect, and Damien was one of them, but his wife was too, and the choice was an easy one, but the actual deed was not. He lay awake for hours into the night, listening to the girl breathing, and glad if tomorrow did not go well for him, at least he did this one good deed.

  ~ ~ ~

  Dawn was near the horizon when Warner reached Scotts Manor. He spared longer at the cottage than he first planned. Once the children died, he stood studying the small room, and realized he wanted the father to see what he did. That would make the entire masterpiece complete. So he waited until late in the evening when the door opened, and a tall burly man entered. From his hiding place behind the door, he saw the man’s face, his horror, his sorrow, as he looked at the people he loved. He stepped further into the room, and Warner pushed the door closed behind him. The man turned, but no words came out before the flail took him to the floor. The man was in and out of consciousness for a couple of hours. Deciding he needed to get on with it, he gutted the man while he still breathed, but Warner felt cheated because he remained unconscious, all the way through to his death.

  Warner slept in the cottage, in the beds of those who lay in the floor, their blood mixing with that of their two sons. Before dawn broke the next morning, Warner saddled the family’s horse and rode away, feeling refreshed. But now he was ready to see Garrick’s work, he was eager for it, and hoped he was not too late to witness the aftermath. Surely Garrick already killed them, he was at least two days ahead of Warner.

  Finding a place to hide, Warner concealed himself, and waited for the movement inside the massive walls to begin. He had to admire the battle wise lord who built the walls. They could defend against a massive army, and he was sure there were other surprises in store for those who breached them. After all, Damien would have an entire library of knowledge from his own experiences.

  Later in the morning the gates opened, and Damien rode out onto the road alongside the Bastard on his superb gray horse, the girl sitting in front of him, and they were followed by several men on horseback. Why isn’t he dead? Why haven’t you killed them yet? He saw the smile on the girl’s face, and he found himself confused. He stared at the retreating horses as his mind tried to make sense of what his eyes were telling him.

  When all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, fury engulfed Warner. The Bastard had turned. He didn’t kill Damien, or torture the girl. He was not the man Warner envied. He was weak. It was probably that bitch of a wife he took. He knew of her and her open door policy to the weak and downtrodden. He loved to make bitches like her suffer. Perhaps before children, those women were the best to kill, because they had made it into womanhood believing what they did, made a difference. Of course it did not make a difference. People like her believed God would reward her and protect her. He would love to go to Kinsey and kill all who were there, make her watch, so she would know that was what her precious husband did too. She would know then, there was no God.

  Perhaps this was his chance to take over as the King’s favored assassin. As of yet, most of what the King wanted of him was to follow and watch. He was tired of that. He liked the exhilaration of snuffing out lives. The King would not be pleased the Bastard defied him. Warner would take him the news, and perhaps, offer to kill the traitor. He didn’t think many would be volunteering to take out the Bastard.


  With a smile he crept from his hiding place and moved back to his horse. Visions of the horror on the Bastard’s fair little wife’s face filled his mind. How he could shatter her perfect little world. He would have to watch the Bastard watch. There was no other way to do it. That would be the perfect kill for a man such as him. He could watch all the children die. Watch the agony it did to his wife, he doubted the Bastard would care about them, but it was obvious he cared for his wife. In the beginning he could make her do so much, right in front of her husband, by making her think he would spare the children. Of course he would spare no one.

  Once she realized it was all a lie, it would be too late. Her pious soul would have already committed the sins, and she would know she was going to hell. How perfect the plan was becoming, the more thought he gave it. Then he would start working on her. Imagining the Bastard’s sorrow made him pause before getting on his horse.

  The Bastard would watch it all, and then Warner would carve his eyes from his head. He admired the Bastard for a long time. But no more. He would show him no one could control their destinies. There was no ultimate creator laying out everyone’s life who, if they just followed him, would make their lives perfect. No, he and his bitch wife would know the closest they would ever see to God was him, the devil, reining his pain and sorrow down upon them.

  Chapter 5

  Small village near Helthpool

  Emma clung to the shrieking woman, using all her strength to hold the thrashing woman down on the floor, so she would not hurt herself again. Damn Ray for his silly games, she thought irritably, holding onto the woman’s brown head, as the tears spewed from her eyes, and wetted Emma’s arm.