CRY FEAR

by Mike Morris

  "I would," she replied.

  "Lin," called Jack as she turned to leave. "Wait."

  She shook her head. "I'll come and find you later." She walked off without so much as a backward glance and left Jack wondering if he'd lost her as well.

  Edward put a hand on his shoulder. "Jack, they're as good as dead anyway — if not worse. We thought it was just a Nostros who could create a Turned, but that's not the case. As long as one Turned lives, the danger remains. You saw how many we fought last night — hundreds of them. There'll be even more tonight if we don't do what Willingham said. We haven't got the manpower to try and fight them one on one again. We have to contain them, destroy them in their nests."

  "Do what you have to do," said Jack. "And may God forgive us all."

  30

  Lin

  Lin woke up with a start. She didn't know where she was at first, confused by her surroundings and in pain all over her body. Then she realized she was in her room at the palace. Everything else came back to her in a rush after that. She eased herself out of bed and went to the window. Somehow she'd managed to sleep for nearly the whole day judging by how low the sun was. It made her sick to think that the Master and his Children would soon be out on the streets once more. The fires still burned across the city, filling the sky with thick, black clouds of smoke, adding to the gloom, but she was glad they'd not gone out. It was the only way to deal with the monsters. She was convinced now more than ever that they needed to be wiped off the face of the world. The Black Dogs' way hadn't worked. Holding the Masters at bay wasn't the answer. The enemy had no mercy in them; they had to be treated the same way — with ruthless fury. It may well break Jack's heart to see his childhood home go up in flames but it was better than the alternative. He'd see that eventually.

  She dressed, happy that someone had left her clean clothes while she slept. She reached for her sword and then remembered the Master's Children had taken it from her. Her anger spiked again at its loss but, if they'd taken it back into the fire, she had to accept it was lost to her forever. No matter. She'd find another weapon to kill them with. They were just tools, after all. She shouldn't develop attachments to any — whatever history she had with them.

  She paused at that thought. The same could be said for people, too. If Jack couldn't accept what needed to be done going forward, she may well have to leave him behind. His God got in the way of any feelings he may or may not have for her anyway. She had to accept their paths may never be the same.

  There was a knock at the door. She opened it to find Willingham's servant standing before her again.

  He bowed. "Lord Willingham has requested your presence."

  "Lead on," said Lin, returning the bow.

  This time she wasn't taken to any gold-painted chambers or given an exquisite meal. The servant took her into the bowels of the palace, down dark corridors illuminated by flickering torches set into the walls. Their footsteps echoed against the stone floor. Lin shivered as a memory of being led through the bowels of Grosnar flashed through her mind. She and her friends were being taken to their deaths that time. What was Willingham's intention now? She had no doubt she could kill the servant, and Willingham would offer no real threat to her, but the palace was full of his troops. Escape wouldn't be easy if he meant to do her harm.

  She found herself tensing up, preparing her mind for whatever may be waiting for her. She'd not go easily — that was for sure.

  The servant stopped outside a metal door. There was no window to see inside. Lin knew what happened inside rooms such as this. She'd wait for the servant to open the door and then she'd push him inside first. She stepped back to give herself room to strike.

  The servant knocked and the door opened. Willingham stood in one corner. A table with a chair on either side sat in the middle of the room. One chair was occupied by the Duke of Westland. He wasn't going anywhere, judging by the manacles locked around his wrists and ankles and the beating he'd endured. The man's nose looked broken, one eye was swollen shut and tears ran down his cheeks. Blood dribbled from his mouth and some teeth already lay on the table in front of him. He recoiled when he saw Lin and struggled against his bonds for a brief moment before slumping back into the chair.

  Another man in a black leather apron and wearing a mask was by a fire, heating up some implements, preparing for the next round of Westland's questioning.

  Lin let out a sigh of relief and unclenched her fists. She was there as a witness, not a prisoner.

  "Come in, come in," said Willingham. The servant stepped back and Lin walked into the room. The door shut with a clang behind her. She only flinched a little at the sound. "Have you slept well?"

  "I did, thank you," said Lin. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

  "Not at all," said Willingham. "You've met the Duke of Westland before?"

  Lin nodded. He didn't look quite so high and mighty all trussed up.

  Willingham smiled. "Unfortunately, his sister escaped, but the duke has been most kind in helping us — with only a little persuasion."

  The masked man laughed and Westland's eyes bulged in fear as he sucked in wet, raspy lungfuls of air.

  "We've just got to the interesting part. Your name cropped up and I thought it best you hear it all for yourself from Westland's traitorous mouth."

  Westland tried to turn his head so he could see Willingham but the chancellor made no effort to accommodate him. "Please. It's all been a terrible mistake. I never knew any of this would happen. I did it all for peace. You must believe me."

  "I thought we were beyond lying to each other, my friend," said Willingham, his voice dripping with boredom. "I thought you understood that in this room, honesty is your only salvation."

  "I'm not a traitor," continued Westland. Willingham glanced over at the masked man. There was no need for an order. No doubt it was a well-rehearsed routine. The man pulled a poker from the fire. The end glowed orange. The man stepped forward and placed it on the back of Westland's hand. The skin sizzled under the heat. Westland screamed and the smell of burning flesh filled the room. Willingham dabbed at his nose with a handkerchief and arched an eyebrow at Lin. After a few seconds the poker was removed and returned to its place in the fire.

  "Did you enjoy that?" asked Willingham.

  "N ... n ... no," said Westland.

  "Next time you lie it will be your eye that burns. Once you are blind, we'll start work on your testicles," said Willingham. "My friend here is an expert, so believe me when I say your pain will last far longer than you could ever expect. Do you understand me now?"

  "Yes," whispered Westland through tears and snot. Lin felt no sympathy for the man. His actions had brought him to this room and that chair. Thousands of deaths lay at his feet.

  Willingham leaned closer to the duke. "Just to bring young Miss Lin up to speed, you and your sister brought the Nostros to Arbour?"

  "Yes. In one of our ships."

  "And what was his name?"

  "Kullen ang Rung."

  Willingham glanced up at Lin, as if to ask her if she knew the name.

  "He was the one who possessed Jack's brother," she said.

  "And this ... Kullen. What is his title?" asked Willingham.

  "He's the king's cousin." Westland coughed some blood onto his shirt.

  "The Nostros king's cousin?" said Willingham.

  "Yes."

  "And why did he come here?"

  "To prepare for his king's coming," said Westland.

  "To find traitors like you to help him," said Willingham.

  "I'm not a trait—" The poker hissed as it was drawn out of the fire. "Yes, to find traitors like me."

  "Are there others?"

  "Yes."

  "And you recruited the redcloaks?"

  "Yes."

  "I will have a full list of names before we leave you, including those in your redcloak army," said Willingham. "Now, what else did this Nostros hope to achieve?"

  "To spread fear and chaos."<
br />
  "Hence the horrors of Brixteth."

  Westland nodded. "Yes. Yes. But only to show that the Nostros' victory is inevitable and that we should accept their terms for peace before we all die."

  "Slavery," said Willingham.

  The duke's head swiveled around the room, from Lin to the masked man, then made another attempt to see Willingham. "Only for some. Not for us. We would still govern, still rule. Little would change for most."

  "Do you really think that?" snarled Lin. She punched the duke in the mouth, felt some teeth give way. "Little would change?" She couldn't believe the man. He'd sold out his entire race for some false promise of power.

  Willingham held up a hand. "Please, Lin. There is no need." He nodded at the masked man. The poker came forward and burnt the side of the duke's face. Westland howled in agony and passed out, only to be woken by a bucket of cold water thrown in his face. "You owe me an eye, by the way," said Willingham in the duke's ear.

  "I'm sorry. Please, I beg you," sobbed Westland.

  "Were there other reasons this Nostros risked everything to come to Arbour?"

  "Yes."

  "Go on."

  Westland looked up and fixed his eyes on Lin. "To kill her and return her sword to the king."

  "It would seem, miss Lin, your fame extends far beyond our fair shores," said Willingham.

  "You hired the men who tried to kill me on my way here?" asked Lin.

  "Yes," said Westland.

  "I see you don't have your sword with you," said Willingham.

  "No," replied Lin. "The Master's Children ... the Turned took it last night."

  "A shame," said Willingham, but Westland grinned at the news.

  Lin didn't hesitate in beating it from his face. "Try fucking smiling now," she spat.

  Again, Willingham waved her back. "Where is this Kullen now?"

  "I don't know," said Westland. "I really don't. He's with my sister. They didn't tell me where they were going."

  "But did they tell you their plans?"

  "N ... n ... no," said Westland. A lie. Obvious to all. The poker burned the other side of his face. "Yes," he screamed over the hissing of his flesh. "Yes!"

  "And they are?"

  "He still wants the girl dead."

  "They'll not have much luck getting across the river, much less finding me here," said Lin with a bravado she didn't feel. Fear nibbled away at her. The Master was always ahead of them.

  Something flickered across Westland's eyes, proving her fear was justified, but he said nothing.

  "What is it?" said Lin. She gave head to her anger — the only way she knew to deal with the terror that was always with her. She grabbed him by the chin and held it so he had to look at her and dug her fingers into his skin. "What don't we know?"

  He stared back defiantly despite the pain. "Everything."

  She moved her hand up and placed her thumb over Westland's eye. "I don't need any pokers to take your eye." She pressed down — just enough to let him know she could do what she promised. A part of her didn't want him to speak. She wanted the excuse to hurt him, to prove she wasn't a victim waiting to die.

  "They'll come here tonight," said Westland through gritted teeth.

  "They'll not get past the Black Dogs on the river," said Willingham.

  Westland stared Lin in the eye, tears streaking down his cheeks. "They're already in place. The Nostros, too. He crossed over two days ago."

  Lin went cold. She thought of fires burning across a city, seeking a monster that was no longer there. And the man before her had helped make it happen. "You bastard."

  Willingham crossed to the door and opened it. He spoke to whoever waited outside and then closed the door once more. "What else?"

  "Nothing. There is nothing else," said Westland. Lin pressed down with her thumb and the duke screamed. Only Willingham's hand on her shoulder stopped her from taking the eye.

  "Speak now," said Willingham, "or I won't stop her next time."

  "There is another sword he seeks."

  "What sword?"

  "The sword of Orsmond." Lin released him and Westland sagged in the chair, beaten by his own confessions. Even she'd heard of Orsmond. She'd heard tales of the sword and what it could do. It was a legend even the Sweats knew.

  "Where's the sword?" she asked.

  "At the Black Dogs' monastery," said Westland.

  She turned to Willingham. "We must warn them."

  "You've been most helpful," said the chancellor to Westland. "Most helpful indeed. I will leave you with my friend, who will get the list of other traitors from you. I doubt we'll see each other again."

  Westland writhed in his chains, fighting his restraints. "No! You promised—"

  "I did, didn't I?" said Willingham. "Take his eye first," he said to the masked man.

  "My pleasure." The man stepped forward with the poker in his hand.

  Willingham took Lin to his private chambers. He stopped on the way to issue messages to the Black Dogs to warn them of the Master's intentions. The palace grounds and hallways bustled with soldiers as he summoned every spare man to arms. "They'll not find it easy to reach you here," he said as he unlocked the door to his office.

  Lin knew he wanted to reassure her, but all she saw were more victims for the Master. "He'll still find me." She only wished she still had her sword. With that in her hand, she could almost believe she had a chance. Without it ...

  The room was three times the size of her cottage at Whitehaven. Three chandeliers hung from the ceiling. His desk, beautifully carved with a gilt finish, stood at the far end, covered in paperwork and with a decanter of red wine at the ready, two glasses next to it. A mirror dominated the opposite wall, and a bookcase faced a window that overlooked the river and the south of the city. Only a few days ago, a room like this would have impressed her, but she was numb to it all now. It was all so pointless. It would burn the same as any other room.

  Lin stood before the window and looked out over the city. Night was upon them, even though the skies glowed orange with the fury of the fires over Brixteth. How many innocents would die in that maelstrom? How many of the damned?

  Willingham followed her gaze. "It'll all be for nothing if the Nostros escapes."

  "Better to burn the whole city if that's the case," said Lin.

  "No need for that yet," said Willingham. "We know where he's going."

  Lin turned and looked at the chancellor. "He's coming here."

  Willingham nodded. "He's coming here."

  "Your men won't stop him."

  "I know."

  "So what are we going to do?" asked Lin. "Wait here and die?"

  The alarm bells began to ring before Willingham could answer.

  The Turned had reached the palace.

  31

  Jack

  "You're in no state to go and fight," said Silas, blocking the door from the infirmary.

  "We need every man we've got," said Jack, pulling on a tunic. He winced with pain as he pulled the fresh stitches that held his chest together. He'd spent the day in the infirmary being patched up, getting some snatched sleep and some hot food inside him. He felt better than he had, but far from his best. It didn't matter, though. There was a war to be fought. Injured priests in other beds were dressing, too — those who could, at least. There were plenty in the infirmary who wouldn't see morning no matter what happened out in the city. The Nostros had taken a heavy toll on all of them.

  "The lad's got a point," said Robert, tugging on his boots. His head was heavily bandaged and already stained with spots of blood. "The demons are coming soon. We either fight or we die. They're not going to wait for us to rest and recuperate."

  "You open up those wounds I spent all day stitching up, you'll bleed to death before any Nostros can get you," said Silas. "And what good will you be then?"

  "Depends how many of the bastards I can kill before I die," said Robert. "Now get out the way. I've no desire to hurt the man who put me back together ag
ain."

  Silas stood his ground for a moment and then stood aside.

  "Now where's the armory in this fucking place?" said Robert as he walked past.

  They left the main building and walked across the courtyard. It was already dark outside. Smoke from the fires mixed with the winter clouds that covered what little of the sun was left. Jack felt himself tense up as he smelled the smoke on the air. How much of Brixteth had been destroyed? Once his anger from earlier had subsided, he knew Willingham had been right to order the fires, just as he knew Lin had been right to torch Brendan's building, but it still tore at his soul. He'd sworn to protect his people and his home, and he'd failed them as much as he'd failed Brendan.

  They joined the queue of priests heading toward the armory. It seemed every Knight of Saint Stephen had answered the call to fight that night. For once, Jack didn't feel out of place. As he looked at the faces of the men around him, he saw nervous people, scared people, tired and wounded people. None of them looked invincible or confident. They were all just human.

  When they reached the armory, Jack remembered the first mission he'd gone on before he'd even taken his vows to become a Black Dog. He'd begged and pleaded with Brother Jacob for any sort of weapon but all he was given was a knife and a truncheon. When things had gone wrong, he'd ended up using a dead priest's sword to stop a traitor from selling gunpowder to the Nostros.

  It'd made no difference, though. The Nostros had gotten the powder from elsewhere and another advantage was gone.

  He looked down at the sword on his hip. Not much had changed. He was using another dead priest's weapon — this time, though, it was his brother's. Still, he'd not have to beg for any other weapons. He took a pistol for the holster on his leg and another for the one strapped to his chest and thrust a third through his belt. Knives went into his boots, others were strapped to his wrists and a last one in his belt behind his back. He filled every pouch he had with bullets and powder. He'd have taken more if he could've carried it. As Master Snow had once said to him, 'better to have a weapon and not need it ...'