by Alan Scott
“Reif!” shouted a worried Alex Weir as he made his way towards his friend.
Reif Rothgal dropped to his knees and brought his hands together in front of him. “My Lord, I thank you.” Tears of joy flowed down Reif’s face. “My Lord, I thank you!”
“Reif, what is wrong?” asked Alex as he knelt by his friend.
Pointing to Arthur, Reif said, “The Shield.” Smiling at Alex, he said, “The Sword.” Reif lifted his head up to the blue sky and said, “And I am the Crown,” before falling unconscious on the soft green grass.
***
“That was delicious, as always, Brother Ending,” said Brother Spear as he placed his empty wooden plate on the ground next to him. “So now, my dear friend, we return to our dilemma: where do we find a rose in a garden?”
Brother Ending looked at his colleague and shrugged as he turned the thick slice of beef that was currently on a frying pan, which in turn was sitting on the glowing embers of the campfire.
“A deep and meaningful contribution, as always, my friend,” responded Spear without any hint of sarcasm. Ending shook the frying pan and added a diced onion.
“Where would we find a rose in a garden?” Spear pondered. “Where would we find... hmmmmm.” Ending used a wooden spoon to push the browning onions around the pan.
“Well, you know what they say...” Ending looked quizzically at Spear. “When you are lost and need direction, look no further than the good book,” said Spear. Ending nodded in agreement.
Brother Spear reached out and picked up a waterproof bag that was lying next to him. Opening it, he removed Brother Bruce Warsmith’s private Bible. “The great man never led us astray when he was alive. Let’s pray that he is looking down on us now and that he will guide our footsteps.”
Brother Ending nodded sagely and dished up the steak and onions onto a wooden plate.
“Right, let’s see where the good book will guide us,” said Brother Spear as he held the Bible in both hands with the spine of the book on his palms. He then allowed the book to fall open at a random place and quickly had a look at the two pages, which had been revealed. “Nope, not much guidance there. It’s opened at Gordon and the Harlot - a valuable lesson about morals and ethics, but not much on the roses and gardens.”
Ending shook his head as he sliced off a piece of his steak and popped it into his mouth.
“Okay, let’s have another go, and this time we shall ask for guidance.” Brother Spear prepared himself before he looked up to the skies and said, “Oh Lord, your poor and humble servants require your guidance. We must deliver this holy Bible into the garden that contains the rose. We humbly request that you show us the way.” Spear held his hands above his head and let the Bible fall open. Looking at the pages, he shook his head in disappointment. “Gordon and the Harlot again.”
Ending chewed another piece of steak thoughtfully before setting down his fork and knife. Standing up, he walked to a spot just beyond the confines of the camp.
“What do you see, my friend?” asked Spear.
Ending motioned to Spear to be silent, as he continued to a spot only he could see. Spear stood up and followed his companion.
Stopping, Ending knelt down and smiled broadly. There before him was a small bright red rose hidden among the foliage. He had only glimpsed it by accident when he looked around whilst Spear was mucking about with the Bible rubbish. God never directly answered any call for help. Instead, He would gently show you the way, as long as you had faith.
As Spear neared, Ending pointed to the flower. “Ah, yes, my friend, our Lord has answered our prayer, though I am a bit perplexed. Do we follow this direction or the direction the flower is facing?”
Ending shook his head. He greatly cared about Spear, but at times, the man was a fool. Ending pointed at the flower and then the direction it was facing.
“As good a direction as any,” agreed Spear. “Now let’s get back to camp.”
After they returned, Ending went back to eating his steak and onions. Spear turned the Bible upside down, and around and around, before letting it fall open again at – Gordon and the Harlot! “Okay, okay, I get the message,” muttered Spear, before saying out loud, “The reading tonight will be Gordon and the Harlot. Apparently, our Lord wants us to be aware of this passage.”
Brother Ending reached for his blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, making himself comfortable as he continued to eat his steak and listen to his friend read from the Bible.
“There was once a man named Gordon. He had taken a wife named Beryl and begot three children with her...”
Chapter Three
Duty Demands a Heavy Price
Rebecca Rothgal stood silently looking out of the heavily barred window in her cell and stared in wonderment as a pair of birds swooped and danced in the warm air. A gentle smile broke upon her lips.
“You are so brave, Becca.” Lady Prue Carnagie moved to stand near Rebecca.
“Mmmm?” Rebecca turned to face her friend.
“You are so brave, Becca,” repeated Prue.
“Thank you.” Rebecca turned back to the window. “Have you ever noticed how wonderfully blue the sky is, Prue?”
“No. Why?”
“You should. For the first time in my life, I am actually looking at the world around me.”
“The world is a cold and gray place,” Prue said, sadly.
“No, not at all,” corrected Rebecca. “It is a bright and vibrant place full of life and hope.”
“Becca, you are going to…” Prue hesitated.
“I’m going to what, Prue?”
“You are going to…” The tears Prue had been fighting back began to flow down her cheeks.
“I am going to die today. Is that what you are trying to say?”
Unable to trust her voice, Prue nodded.
Rebecca Rothgal turned and embraced Prue, holding her tight. Prue threw her arms around Rebecca and buried her head into the woman’s shoulder.
Rebecca turned her head to look out the window. Although the view was severely restricted, she could still see a fragment of the blue sky. Closing her eyes, she listened to distant birds call to each other as they played in the open heavens. “It is a beautiful day,” whispered Rebecca as she gave Prue a reassuring squeeze.
***
Queen Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd’s private study
“But your Highness, you assured me that my wife would die,” said Lord Alfred Carnagie.
“And so she will, just not today,” responded Queen Amanda.
“Your Highness...” began Lord Carnagie.
“Her Imperial Majesty has spoken. Rest assured that your slut of a wife will be fully punished for her past indiscretions,” interrupted Confessor Vember.
Alfred looked at Vember and then the cold, hard, and indifferent face of his queen. “I will trust in Her Imperial Majesty’s justice.”
“Trust me, Lord Carnagie; your wife will die in a suitable way to reflect her crimes against you.”
“Thank you, your Imperial Majesty.”
“You are dismissed, Lord Carnagie.”
“Yes, your Imperial Majesty.” With a bow, Alfred Carnagie left the room.
Queen Rothgal-Ackroyd watched Alfred depart with a look of disgust. “When will we be in a position to no longer require Lord Carnagie?” she asked Vember.
“Soon, your Imperial Majesty.”
“Good.” Amanda walked over to a table upon which stood a jug of iced water and two glass tumblers. Pouring herself a glass, she asked, “Are the preparations ready for this afternoon?”
“Yes, your Imperial Majesty.”
“Soon we will be rid of the deviant, Rothgal, and then I shall unite this country under the One True God and my rule.”
“That day cannot come soon enough.”
Amanda took a sip of the cool water. “Are we sure that the arch deviant, Dark Storm, will not interfere with procedures?”
“Archbishop Frances Peak has assured me that he h
as arranged it to be so.”
“Then the pair are truly damned.”
“My Queen?” queried Confessor Vember.
“When a brother will not help his sister at her moment of need, then the family is truly damned.”
“Wise words, my Queen. Wise words,” fawned Vember.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Enter!” called out Amanda. The door opened and in walked Archbishop Peak and Deacon Brown.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” stated Peak.
“Your Grace,” replied the queen. “Is everything in place?”
“Do you have it?”
“Vember, the box,” commanded Amanda.
Confessor Vember moved across the room to a large plain trunk, which sat unobtrusively in the corner of the room. Opening the lid, he reached in and pulled out an object wrapped in an old blanket. Walking back to the group, he attempted to hand the package to his queen. “Your Imperial Majesty.”
Queen Rothgal-Ackroyd kept her hands by her side. “Kindly hand it to the Archbishop.”
“To Deacon Brown,” correct Peak.
Vember half-turned and offered the bundle to Brown. Deacon Brown reached out and took the item. He carefully unwrapped enough of the blanket to make sure of the object inside. Quickly wrapping it up again, he turned to look at Peak. “Your Grace, I can confirm that it is the object.”
“Good,” nodded Peak.
***
Thirty minutes later in the dungeons under the Castle of Deep Lake
Deacon Brown walked solemnly down the dark corridor as he made his way towards the prison cell with the bundle under his arm.
“Halt and state your name!” a male voice called out.
“Corporal Caldecote - it is I, Deacon Brown.”
“Come forth and be recognised!” commanded Corporal Caldecote.
Deacon Brown closed his eyes and sighed in frustration. Today was going to be difficult enough without idiots like Caldecote acting up.
“I heard that sigh,” said Caldecote.
“You have excellent hearing,” responded Brown as he walked forward.
“True. Most of me is fucked up, but my hearing is working as good as ever,” grinned Caldecote. Brown entered the small guardroom and noticed, for the first time, Cyril sitting behind a desk, pointing a loaded crossbow straight at him. “Is that necessary?” asked Deacon Brown.
“Yes, it is,” said Cyril.
Ignoring Cyril’s reply, Deacon Brown continued, “I am here to see her - Rebecca Rothgal.”
“She might not want to see you,” said Caldecote.
Raising his voice, Deacon Brown called out, “Mistress Rothgal, it is Deacon Brown! I have come as arranged and I need to speak with you.”
“Let him through,” Rebecca called out.
Deacon Brown started to move towards the cell door, but was blocked by the corporal, who hissed in Deacon Brown’s ear, “My queen may die today, but she will be revenged. Those that have facilitated her demise have been noted. I just wanted you to know that.”
Brown looked into the man’s eyes and said, “Your queen is awaiting me. Are you going to keep her waiting?”
Caldecote held Brown’s stare for a moment before stepping aside and smiling. “Of course not. Cyril, open the door.”
Cyril stood up, leaving the crossbow on the table. He walked over to the cell door, slid the bar across, and stood to one side.
“Thank you,” said Deacon Brown. He made his way to the cell door, opened it, and stepped inside.
“Ah, Deacon Brown,” said Rebecca Rothgal as she met her guest.
“Mistress Rothgal,” acknowledged Brown.
With her eyes firmly fixed on the package, she asked, “Do you have it?”
“I do.”
“May I?” asked Rebecca as she held out her hands.
“Of course,” replied Brown as he handed over the bundle.
Taking it, Rebecca unwrapped the blanket to reveal the object inside.
“Is that what I think it is?” asked Prue, as she neared the couple.
“Yes,” replied Rebecca as she grasped the handle of the sword.
“The famous Sword of Sorenson,” Prue finished.
“Yes, this is the sword that was wielded by my grandmother’s bodyguard, Jack Sorenson, whilst he defended her from attackers.”
“He died defending her, didn’t he?” added Prue.
“Yes, he did. Ten men fell to this blade before he finally succumbed to his wounds.”
“It was also the blade used by your mother during the siege of Deep Lake,” said Deacon Brown, “when she rose from the lake, rallied the town folk, and drove the werewolves and their allies from the city.”
“This sword is an important icon and needs to be protected,” said Rebecca as she began to wrap up the sword again.
“What are you going to do with it, Becca?” asked Prue. “I mean, in a few hours’ time, you will be taken from here and…”
“I think Mistress Rothgal is fully aware of what is to happen, Prue,” commented Deacon Brown with a hint of rebuke.
“Sorry,” muttered Prue.
“It’s okay,” said Rebecca, holding out the sword to Prue. “Take this weapon, Lady Carnagie.”
“What?”
“I said take this weapon, Lady Carnagie. I entrust it into your care.” Not sure what to say, Prue reached out and took the bundle. “You must take this sword and give it into the care of the Cult of Mancer,” continued Rebecca. “They will protect this relic and keep it safe until it is needed again.”
“We could use it now,” Deacon Brown said, softly.
“No.” Rebecca’s eyes hardened.
“We will need everything to defeat the Midnight Man. The sword could swing the course of a battle,” argued Brown.
“If that was true, then why has the Archbishop made this happen?” countered Rebecca.
“Because his Grace always hedges his bets.”
“Does that mean he is unsure that Amanda will win, even with the full backing of the Church?” asked Prue.
“The Archbishop has full confidence in Her Imperial Majesty.”
“Her Imperial Majesty,” sneered Prue, shaking her head slowly in disgust. “That woman has a power complex.”
“Prue,” Rebecca mildly scolded her friend. Turning to Deacon Brown, Rebecca continued, “He may very well have full confidence in Her Imperial Majesty, however, he is up to something.”
“You may think that, but I could not possibly comment.”
“What do you know, Deacon?” asked Rebecca, slowly.
Deacon Brown remained quiet.
“Deacon, in approximately one hour, I will be dead. I am doing my very best to hold my emotions in check, whilst doing everything in my power to protect my friends and help them prepare for the future. Tell me what you know.” Rebecca’s eyes searched Brown’s unreadable face for any sign of a chink in his defences.
“Believe me, Mistress Rothgal, that I deeply wish your death could have been avoided. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to make sure that the agreement made between yourself and his Grace will be fulfilled…”
“Is there nothing you can give me to ease my soul, Deacon Brown?” interrupted Rebecca.
“Believe me, Mistress Rothgal, that I deeply wish your death…” started Brown.
Waving her hand dismissively, Rebecca turned away from Deacon Brown. “Thank you for your time, Deacon Brown. I am sure you wish to get started.”
Brown bowed. “As you wish, Mistress Rothgal.”
“Prue, guard the sword and get it to the Cult of Mancer.”
“I will, Becca. I will.” Both women then embraced and allowed a few tears to flow.
“Take care, Prue.”
“Be strong, Becca.” The pair separated.
“Now go and take Cyril with you as a bodyguard,” commanded Rebecca. Prue Carnagie nodded, turned on her heel, and walked swiftly to the cell door.
“Go!” Rebecca said
harshly to Deacon Brown.
Brown half-turned before turning back and striding to Rebecca. Leaning close to her, he whispered into her ear.
“No,” replied Rebecca to his question.
Brown carried on whispering as a smile spread across Rebecca’s face and honest laughter sounded out.
“You are joking!”
Deacon Brown shook his head, turned, and walked towards Lady Carnagie and the open cell door.
Rebecca returned to her window. “’And he shall stand alone and call out, ‘Come on, if you think you are hard enough, fat boy!’” Rebecca laughed again as she watched the birds flit across the clear blue skies.
***
Twenty minutes later in a carriage making its way through the crowded streets of Deep Lake
“How much longer?” asked Prue Carnagie, who now wore a long black headscarf.
“Not long now, Mistress Carnagie,” answered Deacon Brown.
The third member of the group, Cyril Rainspout, kept his vigilance out the carriage window.
“We are not being followed,” stated Deacon Brown.
“Just want to make sure,” replied Cyril.
Brown raised an eyebrow, but remained quiet.
The trio remained silent, each lost in their own thoughts as the carriage continued to make its bumpy way down the road.
It was ten minutes later when the carriage finally came to a halt. Deacon Brown quickly opened the door, got out, and checked that the way was clear, before saying, “Quick, follow me!”
Cyril Rainspout left the carriage next, his eyes alert to any signs of danger. Next came Prue, making sure her headscarf concealed her identity.
