On the road, Spywater veered his horse around to lead the second charge. Medgard was right behind him, adding to the orchestra of warcries that filled the air. Prestings closed his eyes for a moment to anticipate the splatters of blood he would see. He opened his eyes and the splatters were there, sounding like waves at the shore as they imbrued his armor. With the tearing of flesh and the trampling of hooves, the headlong charge sent up a red volley of its own. A quarrel from the castle managed to get in a knight’s visor. Mind-muddled, the knight fell out of his saddle. With his foot caught in a stirrup, his distraught horse dragged him off into the country. That wasn’t enough to stop Spywater’s men from freeing a roar of victory.
The cannyn was now abandoned. The men that had rolled it onto the road were either dead or nowhere to be seen. Spywater’s horse came trotting back towards the shed where the cannyn had come from. His men were tight in behind him, some of them struggling to ignore the castle’s harrying quarrels. Phillick and Jisus had finished running back. Jisus jumped behind a barrel for cover and Phillick exhaustedly fell to his knees on the road to watch Spywater and his knights investigate the shed.
The shed’s doorway was tall and narrow and it was awfully dark inside. “Be careful, men,” Spywater warned. “Some could still be hiding close by. Whatever you do, don’t open your visors.” Spywater’s horse passed the cannyn, now only a dozen feet away from the shed. It was the most depressing shed he had ever seen. He didn’t remember it being there before the war.
All eyes looked to the shed’s doorway as a giant of a man in full steel came roaring out of its shadows, swinging an incredibly long, undulant zweihander. “Oink, oink, oink!” was his warcry. Sunlight glimmered off his phallic helm as his blade turned red in the neck of Spywater’s charger. The horse collapsed to its knees, dropping a load of liquid as Spywater rolled off the saddle. Spywater’s culet smacked the road and he peered up to see his horse split apart. The whole animal opened out like a gateway, falling into two pieces as the giant with the phallic helm stepped through the red mist, cocking back his zweihander for another swing at the blue lord.
The man was taller than any of Spywater’s knights. He bellowed, “Oink, oink, oink,” and brought his blade down hard. Medgard jumped in close to parry it with his longsword. Sending the undulant blade away, he stepped in again for a riposte and smacked his edge hard against the giant’s glimmering helm. The giant staggered back and brought his zweihander up into a high guard.
“You’re outnumbered twenty to one!” Spywater spat as he rose to his feet. “I’m the lord of this fucking place, son. Drop your damn sword! You have my word we’ll spare you if you surrender.”
The giant in the dick-helm was mumbling with anxious footwork.
“Damn all hell, drop the fucking sword!” Medgard yelled, not wanting to fight the man.
The man suddenly dropped his zweihander and fell to his knees. It sounded like he was crying under his helm. That helm, there was something about it.
Jisus ran over gaping. “I don’t believe my eyes! Do you know who this man is?”
Medgard kicked the zweihander away from the crying giant and said, “Of course we know who this is. You think I’ve never heard that oink before? This here is Bob Redmand the famous tourney champion, better known as The Sundown Boar. I once watched him end what was supposed to be a three day tourney in one hour.”
Spywater mumbled a curse as he scabbarded his sword. “Hell, let’s get out of this bowshot, men.” At that, knights struggling to ignore the harrying quarrels yipped and galloped around a house for cover. Spywater gave more demands, taking one last look at the horse he had learned to love. “Prestings, help Medgard and I secure our new prisoner. Take him to that stable for interrogation. The rest of you, I want this village searched. Every man or woman holding a weapon will be slain on the spot. Do you hear me?”
As Prestings dismounted his horse behind cover, the rest of Spywater’s knights yipped and charged deeper into the village to begin the purge.
Jisus must’ve been standing in the way or something because Spywater took one look at him and said, “Jester, pick up one of those fallen bows and a quiver. Start loosing at the castle ramparts, at least one arrow every minute.” Jisus stammered something brief and picked up the items before he dove back to cover. A quarrel just barely missed him.
Medgard and Prestings were escorting the giant towards a stable as Spywater looked to Phillick. “Watch and gather the horses, Phillick. When the knights dismount, we can’t have villagers or anyone getting ideas. You got it?”
Phillick bowed then limped away to begin his task. Knights yonder had smashed their way into a barn to fight some men hiding in the rafters.
Jisus loosed his first arrow. It smacked the wooden gate and made a few men on the ramparts laugh aloud. A quarrel hit Spywater’s left greave. It jounced off the steel and skipped along the road. “Stay tight, Jisus,” Spywater said as he began his leave. “You have the most important job of all. Scream my name if you see a sortie.”
Jisus stood up straight out of cover and asked, “My lord, wait, what’s a sortie?”
Spywater didn’t hear him. The cheering of faraway men augured the black ball that hurled through the air and walloped Jisus in the back of the head. The bang of the cannyn blast trailed right behind it.
Spywater ducked. When he rose to look back, skull and brains were still spiraling in the air. Jisus’ head was gone but his body was standing perfectly upright like a peg. The cannyn ball crashed into the gable of a house and toppled the whole structure before Jisus’ body fell over.
“Fuck the almighty.” Spywater rushed to find Medgard. He lumbered into the stable just in time to watch Medgard pull off Bob Redmand’s famous dick-helm. The clanks and clacks of nearby swordfights were suddenly muted by the giant’s angry screams and oinks. His cheeks were red and wet with tears. He vied to rise but Prestings and Medgard fell on him to hold him down. When Spywater put a blade to the man’s throat, all squirming stopped.
The giant stammered and slurred, “My father Lord Redmand should’ve killed you a long time ago, Spywater!”
“You’re right,” Spywater assented. “Your father should’ve killed me when he had the chance. Now it seems Black Blade has made that task impossible. Now you are the new Lord Redmand.”
A miserable roar went up and stung Spywater’s ears. “I fucking hate all of you! Let me go! Let me go! Oink, oink, oink!”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Bob.” Spywater’s voice was calm and smooth. “You’re going to tell us where you got those cannyns and how you took my castle. Then, if you behave, we’ll let you go.” At the words ‘let you go,’ Bob perked up to listen closer. Spywater continued, “Yes, Bob, we’ll let you go. All you have to do is behave. Can you behave for us, Bob?”
Bob sniveled and nodded glumly. “I will behave.”
A gauntlet came down to pick up the dick-helm. Spywater held it in a beam of sunlight to study its detail. “Is this modeled after your dick, Bob?”
Bob nodded again.
“I see there are a few warts on the back … very nice craftsmanship.” Spywater threw the helm aside and began pacing, watching one of the swordfights outside the stable. Jax had just defeated a lanky axman. A cry of victory resounded across the lake. “Where did you find these men, Bob? They fight like children. My knights cut them down like crops.”
“They asked to join me because they hate King Kilwinning just as much as I do,” Bob stuttered. “I trained them and showed them the armory. They all know King Kilwinning is an evil demon that must be quelled. You’ll rue helping him.”
“Calm down, Bob. This is a peaceful discussion. Now tell us how you got those cannyns.”
“I hired an alchemist and made them myself!” Bob seemed proud of that. He laughed with his tongue out and drooled onto his breastplate. “It’s easy to make them! Soon everyone will have cannyns. Your evil king may have invented them, but I showed King Spiderwell how to make them an
d now he has hundreds! He’s producing them as we speak.”
Spywater was doubtful about that. “Spiderwell, The False King? But he’s dead. You must be talking about his son, The False Prince, right?”
Bob winked. “His son will make a way, way better king than your stupid fucking king! Oink, oink, oink!” Bob tried to rise again but Medgard and Prestings held him down.
Spywater turned swiftly and yelled, “Behave!” His long blue cloak fluttered as it turned with him. “King Kilwinning is the only rightful claimant!” The lord took a deep breath to humble himself. “Perhaps we’ll talk further about kings and claims another time. Now tell me how you took my castle. Remember, this is a peaceful discussion.”
Bob still had tears running down his red cheeks but his laugh was full of joy. He spoke slowly, stammering as he always did. “When I arrived with the cannyns, all the villagers were so scared they promised to help us if they could loot the castle after. Then all I had to do was shoot a cannyn ball at the gate and your stupid castellan Sir Fezzcheck surrendered, screaming, ‘there’s only five of us!’” Bob laughed again, casting a spray of slobber onto the floor. “Then I gutted him with my zweihander and the rest of your garrison joined us. Even your lady joined us. She fucked me and cooked me pork!” At that, Spywater cringed and cursed but continued to listen. “We all celebrated and let the villagers take what they wanted. Next thing, my scouts saw you coming so we had to make preparations. More men were supposed to sally and take you in the rear after we fired the cannyn but they didn’t. They never fucking listen to me! They fear me in person, pretend to be loyal to my face, but they all mock my condition as soon as they’re not in my reach!”
A quiet prayer escaped Spywater’s lips. “Yes … your condition.” He sighed sadly. “I’m surprised you can lead men at all, but I must admit, for facing this struggle of yours, you’re the bravest man I know. It’s sad but true; not all men are born equal.”
“Father said I was his last surviving son for a reason!”
“And that you are, Bob.” Spywater was more humble than he had been all day. “You know how to survive in this world better than any of us. You have a gift. Because you know how to survive so well, I know you will listen when I say ‘tell your men to surrender my castle and give it back to me.’ Your men inside the castle will spared. You have my word.”
The smile on Bob’s face vanished. “I told you they don’t listen to me. Upon those walls, they’ll just laugh at me.”
“No, Bob, you’re their leader. They’ll listen. You’ll tell them we’ll use your own cannyn to blow the gate apart if they don’t. You’ll tell them I don’t care if we have to fix the gate after. We’ll blow it to splinters and saunter in for all their heads. You’ll tell them, right?”
Bob nodded meekly. “I’ll try.”
The village had been searched and cleared of hostiles sooner than expected. Spywater stepped out of the stable. Some of his knights were teasing a wench. He told them to leave her alone. “Order, men! We have a castle to take back!”
The air was cool and the sun was close to the horizon by the time Spywater had everything prepared for his enemy’s surrender.
From his time on the ramparts of Wittinberry, Phillick knew everything there was to know about loading and firing a cannyn. He was almost as good with a cannyn as he was with a sling. The casters of Bob’s cannyn squeaked up the road until they parked about fifty paces away from the castle. The castle garrison had agreed to a ceasefire under the condition that a few select women from the village were brought to the gate. Jax was the lucky man picked to escort the lasses the rest of the way to the castle. Spywater and his knights watched from atop their horses and remounts as Jax raised his visor at the gate to kiss a blushing girl on the lips. She seemed sad to see him go right before the gate shut again. Jax made the long walk back.
Half the castle’s garrison was on the front bulwark waiting for Spywater to make his proposal. Lady Spywater was leaning through a crenel, chattering and giggling with her new friends. She had her dugs out and flopping about as she swilled from an ewer of wine, spilling it all over her neck. A crossbowman licked some off her nipple and their lips clasped together. From the look on the blue lord’s face, his knights could tell he was beyond aggrieved. The knights who knew him best began to remember the times they secretly slept with that lecherous sow.
Bob’s tears had dried but his anxious jitters had grown. Medgard’s rondel was at his throat, but that wasn’t why he was so nervous. The cannyn was aiming right at his rump and Phillick had a burning torch ready near the wick. The giant captive stuttered for a bit before he was able to free his first few words. He struggled to remember everything Spywater had told him to say. “This is Lord Redmand speaking!” he yelled at all the watchers on the castle wall. “I demand you to open the gate and surrender the castle. Lord Spywater will not harm you. All he wants is his castle back. If you do not listen, they will kill me and blow the gate open with my own cannyn. Then he will slaughter you all. Your arrows are useless against his armor. Surrender now and be spared!”
When Bob finished, Lady Spywater guffawed and slapped her teat. “Are you serious?” All the men standing on the ramparts around her guffawed as well.
“I think your lady is the new lord.” Medgard just had to say it.
“Shut up.” Spywater held his head to think.
“Should we light the wick, milord?” Phillick was overexcited to witness some destruction.
The naked lady on the bulwark and her naughty dogs were still chuckling when the gate below them burst open. Out came a stampede of riders. It was a brazen flourish of advanced armor and weaponry unlike anything Spywater’s knights had seen the likes of. Over thirty chargers were completely caparisoned with scaled armor, their teeth baring as the knights on their backs dug in their spurs. “What kind of helms are those?” Medgard asked. “I’ve never seen lances like those before,” Phillick said. “Who gives a shit?” Prestings yelled. “Let’s get away, men! I’m fucking routing!”
Half the knights behind the cannyn veered their horses to flee before their blue lord shouted, “Fire!”
Before Phillick could say ‘finally,’ Bob elbowed Medgard’s helm and escaped his grip to flee. Bob leaped out of the way just in time and the cannyn blast sounded—Boom! The ball went speedily towards the oncoming sortie and cracked into a knight before it walloped into another. It then took out a couple horses. Men flipped through the air. The shot created more carnage than Phillick had expected, but it wasn’t enough to quell the charge. For the first time, Phillick realized what it was like to be on the receiving end of cavalry. If he didn’t move, he would be skewered in a matter of seconds. Spywater commanded everyone to retreat.
The galloping castle sally passed Bob on his way to the gate.
An observer above could say the following scene resembled a pack of lions chasing their quarry towards a thicket. The hooves of Spywater’s retinue raced past puddles of blood and butts of used arrows on the road as they entered the village. Peasants in the fields and in the yards unfurled their backs to watch the pursuit.
“We’re faster than them,” Spywater declared as he passed the mill. Only a few of his men could hear him over the din. “Those scaled caparisons are slowing their horses down. Don’t fret, men! We’ll beat them!”
Jax looked back as he galloped and cursed the almighty. He saw a wall of lance heads flashing in the sun, kicking up a monster of dust that devoured the sky. A big black ball soared overhead but Jax didn’t see it. Then the reverberating pop of the cannyn blast hit his ears. He looked forward just in time to see a fellow knight and his horse flipping through the air beside him. It sounded like a wave at the shore when Jax’ armor became coated by the horse’s blood.
“Almighty have mercy,” Medgard prayed as his steaming charger took him ahead of Jax. “You look like a big red pepper!”
Jax couldn’t help but titter. “Watch out, Medgard,” he chuckled, digging in his spurs. “I’m a
spicy one!”
CHAPTER THREE: THE OWL
DEADMAN’S CHURCH HAD never looked so ghostly to Lord Spywater. It sat under the moon like a lone wolf prickling up in the wind. Spywater turned his tired horse into the church property and dismounted. A score of knights reined in a few at a time behind him. One knight said, “The wain’s gone, but the mule’s still there, well, its skeleton anyways.” Another knight added, “Something ate it.” When Prestings reined in, he said, “I can’t believe we’re stopping here. I’m telling you all, we should’ve turned off the road a long time ago. Our tracks are clear as quartz.” Their chargers’ nostrils were adding to the midnight murk that lingered knee-high. The knights stayed ahorse to hear the lord’s plan.
“Sir Grendale!” Spywater rubbed his horse’s snout as he pointed at the bell chamber. “You have the best eyes. Go up there and tell us how far back our pursuers are.”
Grendale was a slim man. He looked even slimmer in that tight, steel suit. He dismounted and ran into the church.
“You still think they’re following us?” Phillick asked the lord.
“Of course they’re still following us.” Spywater began rooting through a saddlebag. “They fear what’s going to happen when King Kilwinning hears of this. We need that castle back. It’s the only eyes we have in these parts, and the fish from the lake are more lucrative than you’d believe.” The knights could hear Grendale rushing up the iron stairs inside. Spywater retrieved a long leather pouch from the saddlebag. Clutching it tightly, he sprinted into the church. His blue cloak billowed through the doorway and disappeared in the umbrage.
Knights of the Dawn (Arcanum of the Dolmen Troll Book 1) Page 4
