“I wonder what Spywater’s up to,” Phillick said, listening to Spywater’s hobnails clank up the iron stairs.
No one seemed to have an answer, except for an owl in a tree behind them. It watched all the mounted knights inquisitively, tilting its head. Hoot! Hoot! Starlight gave a blue sheen to the entire retinue. The pouch wasn’t in Spywater’s hand when he came back outside. He mounted his horse and looked to the steeple.
Grendale leaned over the balustrade of the bell chamber, holding the pouch. “I think I see them now!” His pointy nose stuck out from under his raised visor. His little lips fluttered. “I can just barely see it, but they’re clearly kicking up a storm of dust in the horizon. I’d say we have less than two minutes before they get here.”
Spywater seemed unconcerned. “Thanks, Grendale. Now remember what I told you about that pouch. Don’t pull out the contents until all our pursuers are inside the church, or at least until you lure as many inside as you can. You have to lure them all in, then open the pouch. If you open it now, you’ll botch the whole plan to shit. You got it, Grendale?”
Grendale was shaking with fear. “I … do I really have to do this alone, milord?”
Spywater lowered his head to shake it, then looked over to Jax. “Go up there with him, Jax.”
Jax flung open his visor with a cuss. “Are you serious?”
“I’ve seen you fight, Jax. I know you won’t die if you do what I say.” Spywater turned to unstrap a shield from his saddle. “You have to help lure our pursuers into the church, as many of them as you can. If you can manage that, you won’t die. I promise. Just lure them in and hold the stairwell. Tell Grendale to open the pouch when you feel like you can no longer defend the bell chamber. He already knows what to do.”
Jax eyed the poleax strapped to his saddle as he grumbled. “What’s so special about that pouch?” He cursed and withdrew the longsword from his waist instead, knowing a poleax would be a bad choice for indoors no matter how attractive it looked right now.
“You’ll see, Jax,” Spywater replied after Jax started making his way into the chapel. “Don’t worry. We’ll all be watching over you.”
“Thank the almighty, milord.” Grendale made an awkward bow over the balustrade. “We won’t fail you, but you better go hide now. They’ll be here any minute.”
Spywater finished strapping his shield to his arm. “Alright, knights, dismount. We’ll be leaving the horses here, unhobbled.” It sounded like someone had kicked a bucked of nails when every knight in the retinue suddenly dismounted. Spywater continued, “Our pursuers won’t believe we’re inside the church if our horses aren’t here, so take your best weapons and follow me. We’ll hide behind that hillock over there. It’s so dark inside the church, our pursuers will have to search it vigilantly. After, we’ll trap them inside and block all the windows with our shields. We’ll burn the church down with them inside it.”
Knights scrounged through their gear, unwrapped their favorite blades, and untied shields for use. Spywater was already running towards the hillock with a few ready men at his heels. “Hurry, fellows,” a knight hollered as he ran to follow. “I can’t wait to use my sling!” Phillick exclaimed.
The owl’s head turned slowly to watch the score of knights sprint across the field. They disappeared over the ridge of the hillock one by one. The last knight leaped over the ridge and out of sight just as the sally from Castle Spywater galloped off the road and reined to a halt athwart the church property. Their thirty-odd chargers seemed a lot more exhausted than the horses that were already grazing about the place.
“Dismount and surround the building!” a man in a fluted black barbute bellowed. He dismounted and shook a bit to adjust his black armor. Burly men all around him alighted to answer his order. A few with shields approached the front door.
“Why are you hiding like little girls?” a traitor of a knight with the standard of Castle Spywater inappropriately on his surcoat shouted through a window. “Come out of the darkness! Fight us like men!”
“It’s nothing but black in there,” a mouse of a man complained. He was wearing a white suit of steel.
The leader with the black barbute snatched a pavise before he joined the men by the front door. He budged past them and placed a sabaton inside. “This is Lord Montese speaking. Now I know you’re all in there. I know you can hear me, so I’m going to have a little chat.” He spoke smooth and clear. “If it’ll help you make the right decision, Spywater, there’s some things you should know. I’ve heard your people tell a false story. The story says your precious hero Black Blade killed me in my castle while King Spiderwell was besieging Wittinberry a year ago. It says Black Blade killed me just like he killed Lord Redmand. But do I look dead to you? The truth is, Black Blade tried to kill me. He slithered up into my castle like a snake, but I captured him and tortured him until he told me your king’s plans. He told me all about how your king was hoping Spiderwell would stop besieging Wittinberry and retreat back to Wellimgale if he discovered Lord Redmand and I, the two biggest contributors to his army, were dead. When this information reached Spiderwell, he pretended to retreat from Wittinberry to create the illusion your king was hoping to see. It’s rather a jape for all of us because the king Black Blade killed at Wellimgale a year later really was, in fact, a false king. The real King Spiderwell had been hiding behind the mountains, waiting patiently for your armies to leave Wittinberry. Roughly a fortnight ago, Wittinberry was taken. Yup, it’s true. The capital of your king’s wretched kingdom is now ours, and we’ll soon have Wellimgale back, too.”
Without waiting for a response, the man who claimed to be Lord Montese chuckled and went on, seeming to enjoy himself. “Black Blade may’ve escaped my dungeon, but that turned out to work in our favor. You see, he was too ashamed of his capture to tell your king what really happened. He let you all believe I was dead, just like he let you believe King Spiderwell was dead. Now it’s like we’ve both risen from the grave.” He chuckled. “Sorry to say it, but I wouldn’t be smirking like this right now if it weren’t for your precious hero. Soon your king will realize Spiderwell’s alive, relaxing on the throne of Wittinberry, and Black Blade will no longer be a hero. You’ll see Black Blade the way we all see him, as a coward. Soon your armies will be surrounded, and your pathetic king will be hung for his tyranny. I say there’s no use defending a dead king. So all of you, come out with your hands above your heads. Surrender. Perhaps our graceful King Spiderwell will grant you all pardons, relinquish your titles. Either way, this war will soon be over. So why fight? Come on out. Make the right decision.”
There was no response aside from from the owl. Hoot! Hoot! From upon that high bough, the throng of strange knights girding the spooky chapel were crows around carrion. One knight smashed the remnants of a leaded window to peer inside, his shield fidgeting forward carefully.
“This is your last warning!” Lord Montese brought his pavise inside a bit to peer around the corners. “Drop your weapons and come out or we’ll burn this whole thing down. I swear, we’ll kill you one by one as you run out screaming for your mothers. If you think we’re stupid enough to go in there, you better think again.”
Jax leaned over the balustrade up high and dropped a large stone brick.
Lord Montese looked up. The brick was inches away from his face. It buckled his barbute to a pancake with his head still inside it. The limp lordly corpse collapsed. The shieldmen all around him screamed in outrage.
The small man in white armor squealed, “Charge! Rush those cocksuckers! Kill them all!” His shrill voice was tenfold bigger than he was. “I’ve been dying for a fight!”
The owl on the bough watched as the horde of strange knights stomped through every entrance available. They rushed through the windows and clogged the front door. Soon the owl was all alone with the grazing horses. It hooted at the moon.
Jax was at the top of the iron stairwell staring down. He could see men below searching through the darkness, their stee
l weapons dimly glowing in the starlight that managed to seep inside. Someone declared the backroom was clear, then all eyes swooped to the stairwell, up at where Jax was staring back down at them all. He had the instinct to quickly duck out of sight, but against his beating heart he stood out in clear view. “You fucking sots,” he yelled, “I fucked all your mothers!”
At that, a hundred retorts hurled at the ceiling, mostly words but a few spears went, too. Jax didn’t have to dodge the one that bounced off the wall beside him, but he did anyway. The iron stairwell began to wobble aggressively, seeming to jiggle out of its foundation as a stampede of raging men ascended it.
The look on Grendale’s face when Jax turned around to give the signal was hilarious. The man shat himself the moment he opened Spywater’s pouch. Jax ignored the smell and looked back to see that his foes were already halfway up. “Pull it out, Grendale! Come on!” Jax had his sword ready to fend off whoever reached the top first. “Whatever’s in that damn pouch, pull it out!”
Grendale pulled it out and gaped with utter confusion. He had hoped it would be an enchanted scroll to teleport him away, but it was just some silly doll.
Jax heard Grendale complain and looked back to see for himself. “A fucking doll? What’s that going to do? Spywater tricked us!”
Grendale just shook his head and tossed the doll to the ground. He shat himself again and made a bound over the balustrade. Jax grimaced when he heard his fellowman hit the ground. Grendale must’ve broken a leg or something. He screamed for his mother. Jax cursed and turned just in time to parry a downcut. With a thoughtless riposte, he stabbed past a noseguard and then kicked the poor corpse away. Next, a spear whistled forward. Before it was close enough for Jax to parry, the shattering toll of raging bells exploded behind him.
Half the men on the stairwell dropped their weapons to block their ears. Jax glanced back and saw six transparent bells clanging in the center of the bell chamber, supported by nothing. They faded in and out of reality like whimpers across a lake. The doll Grendale had dropped on the floor was floating towards him, its golden hair flowing wildly. A gale swept over him when the doll floated over his head. With it went a horrifying screech, the scream of a little girl. Over the exploding peals, Jax could also hear the horses outside going mad. Chargers were rushing inside the church to gnaw and kick at the first things they saw. Jax parried a partisan then kicked a breastplate. Knights on the stairwell were clambering over each other to get away from the mind-shattering tolls, away from the flying doll, away from the girlish screams that pierced their skulls like quarrels. Only a few were still trying to kill Jax. He mocked their attempt as he kicked another one back. The man lost his balance and caused another man to roll down the stairwell.
Jax knew his head would explode from the tolls at any moment. He swore his ears were bleeding as he walked across the bell chamber. He walked right through the transparent bells and they sent a chill up his spine. Cussing up a storm, he peered over the balustrade to behold all the crazed horses below. One was dragging Grendale’s corpse off behind a bush. Other horses were eating each other. Some were eating themselves. Most were kicking wildly and braying like beasts from hell. Unable to handle the pain in his skull, Jax cursed his king and jumped over the balustrade.
“Fuck all kings,” is what he grumbled right before he hit the ground. The fall was roughly four stories, but unlike Grendale, Jax rolled when he landed. Something in his back snapped as he did so. A jolt of pain rocketed through him and his backplate nearly buckled. After completing his roll, the stars were no longer a blurry mess that whirled around him. They were clear specks in the sky. He saw all his fellowmen rushing across the field towards him, and spat through his visor. “On second thought … FOR KING KILWINNING!”
Medgard’s pig-faced bascinet, Spywater’s sexy sugarloaf helm, Phillick’s hawk-faced armet, and, last but never least, Prestings’ spotless sallet … all those hideous helms had never been such a fucking splendid sight. As horses brayed off in the distance, whinnying at the moon, the owl glided from the bough and soared up high. Under the starlight, the owl flapped its expansive wings, floating higher and higher. It circled around the church steeple. Below, it could see all of Spywater’s knights cutting their way through the crazed horses to encircling the building. They held their shields up to block the windows, to create a barricade at the front door.
“Phillick,” Spywater commanded near the front door, “you have the best hands. Make a fire and light the torches in my saddle. Bring them here as fast as you can.” His blue cloak swirled as he spun to gauge the scene. His men were standing brave, waiting and willing, listening to the chaos within the church, straining to see it. “I want swords ready behind the shields! Thrust when they try to get out! We have to keep them inside no matter what.”
Already at some of the windows, men were trying to flee out of the church. They were clanging on the shield walls with axes and swords, but failed to get out. Many of them fell victim to swords they didn’t see coming. Every knight inside the church was being tortured by the bells’ gongs. Some small little girl was screaming at the top of her lungs, but no one could see her. No one could say why or how, but the men inside the church were dying. Invisible little fingers were finding their ways into helms. Men were bleeding from their ears and rolling on their backs. Some had gathered what mental strength they had left to fight off the crazed horses, slashing them open, leaping away from those bright gnawing teeth. One of the windows at the right side of the chapel was facing a heavy charge. Spywater heard the fighting and ordered some men to go help.
Behind the shields at the front door, Jax put a hand on Medgard’s pauldron and said, “Can you believe that’s Lord Montese right there?” He pointed at the corpse in black armor by their feet.
Medgard shook his head. “Black Blade assassinated Lord Montese just like he assassinated Lord Redmand.”
Jax shook his head, too. “No, you won’t believe what I heard the man say. He said Black Blade …”
“Cut the chatter,” Spywater spat the order out. “Stay focused.”
It was hard to see inside but it was clear there was nothing but chaos to behold. The bells seemed louder after each toll. Prestings swore he saw a small doll floating inside of there. Another shrill scream from some little girl was enough to make him shudder. A small man in white armor sprang out of the darkness and threw himself through the doorway. He smashed up against the shield wall, screaming horrendously. Medgard stood high to clang his sword against the man’s helm. A few more clangs sounded. No matter where Medgard put his sword, he couldn’t find a way to stab the man. That white armor showed no weakness as its wearer wrestled with the shields and bellowed mad curses. He suddenly dropped dead as the tolling bells had made his heart explode. He fell to the ground and Spywater’s men pushed him out of the way with their feet.
The shield wall instinctively crept closer to the doorway. “No, stay back,” Spywater had to warn them. “Don’t put your heads inside the doorway. The bells will drive you mad!” A few of his knights scoffed at that as all the screaming, gnawing and crying had already driven them half-mad. It was a patient moment before torchlight hit the chapel. Spywater looked back, relieved to see Phillick striding over with four lit torches. “Medgard, take two of those and go around the left. Phillick, go right. Light as many fires as you can. Drag over parts of the fence if you have to. We’re going to burn this fucker down.”
Another man sprang against the shield wall as Medgard nodded and snatched the torches.
When the owl finally alighted back onto the bough, it turned its head to see the church engulfed in flames. The church was a crackling wreck, floundering and spitting and twirling madly like some ugly octopus dragged onto shore. Giant tentacles of flame hurled high to lick the stars, turning the night sky into a ghostly white pall. The church steeple collapsed and crashed into the rooftop. Still, singing bells somehow filled the air alongside the dreadful squelches of some dying girl. Men emerged from
the burning heaps, flailing their limbs madly. They were tripped to the ground and given much-needed mercy. Indeed, the rondel became the symbol for mercy that night, as Medgard milled about like an angel. One man whispered some form of gratitude before his maille popped.
The toll of the bells winded down to an unsteady halt when the whole church came crumbling down. The noise altogether sounded like a hyper child larking around on a church organ. The owl watched the victors collect before the bonfire. Medgard lifted Jax and spun around merrily. Knights were dancing like children at a festival. Others were gathering the horses that had suddenly calmed when the pealing stopped. Among all the rejoicing, Spywater was beyond depressed. He sat on a rock staring at the moon with his visor raised. Tears grew in his eyes. Not even the rabbit burrowed in the hole beneath him heard him when he whispered, “Farewell, sweetie.”
A few knights who had been with Spywater for years could guess why the sight of this church burning would make him so sad, but that was information they weren’t allowed to share yet. They just gathered to sit beside him, staring at the monstrous flames with sullen eyes, wishing Grendale was still with them.
Medgard and his cronies agreed this was the appropriate time to combine the dregs of their wineskins. Together, they gathered enough drink to get a dozen men drunk. To victory, they quaffed, dancing around the bonfire, bellowing songs of glory.
CHAPTER FOUR: THE MOUSE
LADY SPYWATER FLICKED her eyes open and peered across an elaborate bedchamber. Morning sunlight shined through an open window. She smiled at a man dressing by a table and nestled her face deeper into a pillow. Five other men were sharing a bed with her. Two of them were sleeping. One was slowly humping a sweaty fold of skin at her hip. Another was fucking the back of her greasy ankle, moaning quietly. One on top of her was just finishing, arching his back and muttering to the almighty as goo flew across the room.
Knights of the Dawn (Arcanum of the Dolmen Troll Book 1) Page 5
