by Alan Scott
Alex looked at the city in front of him, then over his shoulder to the band of followers who were accompanying them. They were led by John Magee and contained Arthur Greeth, or the Shield of the Lord, as Reif called him. “We are few, Reif. How do we take control of a city like Idris?”
“With faith and courage, old friend, with faith and courage.” Reif's eyes filled with determination. “Then, when we hold this great symbol of freedom…”
“Symbol of freedom, Reif?” queried Alex.
“Is this not the city of Samuel Cregg the Tailor who slew five hundred of the Brethren the last time they attacked the city? Was he not a good man - a God-fearing family man? Both he and his wife should be held up as shining examples of how we should live our lives.”
“They were good people,” agreed Alex.
“Is this not the city that the Old Guard were barracked in before they met their fateful day?”
“It is, Reif.”
“Is this not the city from whence our beloved Lady of the Lake, Queen Kathleen, came?”
“Yes, Reif.”
“In summary, my friend, Idris is the city where it all started and it will be the city where the fight back will begin.”
***
In the ruined monastery of the Brethren of the Night near the border of the Blood Coast
Dressed in a heavy monk's robe, Gideon Shandhu strode through the long shadows which the dying sun was creating as it fell towards the horizon, allowing night to take its turn to rule the world.
Kicking aside bleached bones, Gideon purposefully made his way to where the Great Hall had been. Abruptly, a pained hiss escaped from his lips as one of the last rays of the sun managed to burn the back of his left hand. Gideon quickly withdrew his hand deep into the robe's sleeves. Turning his head slightly to his most hated enemy, he angrily bared his teeth.
Flexing his hand, Gideon continued his walk to the blackened ruin which had been the Great Hall. As he neared the collapsed entrance, he slowed his pace and bowed his head. “Brother Jacob,” he whispered, reverently.
Stepping into the hall, Gideon looked around the smoke-blackened walls, the fire scorched floor, and the gaping holes in the ceiling, through which stars in the early evening sky could just be seen. “Ah, hello, night. So good of you to join us,” said Gideon as he made his way to the broken throne which sat proudly at the far end of the hall.
In the growing darkness, Gideon ran his injured hand over the arm of the chair before making his way behind it and resting his arms on the small fraction of the back of the chair that was still whole. “Brother Jacob, your grand scheme has worked. The Midnight Man leads the Brethren and he is bringing enlightenment to the world.” Gideon Sandhu looked down for a moment and stretched his arms. “However, as you so clearly foresaw, he is challenging the gods themselves, a challenge that he cannot win.” Gideon smiled. “Or should I say - a challenge he must not win.”
Taking a deep breath, Gideon looked up through one of holes in the ceiling and out into the early darkening night. “Brother Jacob, I have not forgotten your last lesson and instruction: ‘The Brethren are bigger than anyone, even He who created us. The Brethren must always survive. You must make sure that they are always survivors'.”
Sandhu raised an eyebrow and cocked his head as he heard a sound off to his left. Standing up, he half turned and called out, “Why are you here, Miriam?”
Miriam Gregorious stepped into view. “I was wondering what treason you were plotting, old friend.”
Gideon’s eyes flared with anger. “I am not a traitor to the Brethren.”
Miriam raised her hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Peace, Gideon, peace. I was merely joking.” Miriam made her way further into the ruins. “Do you remember when this place thrived?”
“Yes.”
“Brother Jacob was a great leader and such a visionary.”
“That he was, Miriam,” agreed Gideon.
Both vampyres stood quietly, lost in their memories.
“He has challenged the gods.” Miriam broke the silence.
“And he is winning,” added Gideon.
“Ultimately, he will lose.”
“Everyone and everything eventually loses or dies.”
“But he has not made provision for that,” said Miriam.
“No, he has not,” agreed Gideon.
Gideon Sandhu and Miriam Gregorious smiled at each other. “Praise be to Brother Jacob and his forethought and vision,” said Miriam.
“The future of the Brethren is safe because of him,” finished Gideon.
In the pale moonlight, in the ruins of their former home, Gideon and Miriam reached out and held each other’s hands like lovers as they walked out of the Great Hall and made their way into the dark shadows.
***
Near a very special garden
“In summary, my friend, I think we are lost,” said Brother Spear.
Brother Ending thought about his friend’s statement for a moment and then nodded in agreement.
“Hello,” said a female voice.
“Eh, hello,” said Brother Spear, searching for the owner of the voice.
“What are you doing today?” asked the voice.
Brother Spear finally caught sight of the person. It was a young innocent-looking woman. “Ah, there you are, miss. My name is Brother Spear and this is Brother Ending.”
“Hello, my name is Rosie. Would you like to visit my garden?”
Brother Spear and Brother Ending looked at each other and mouthed, “A rose in a garden.”
“Where are your parents?” Brother Spear asked.
“Oh, they are dead. They died a long time ago.”
“I am sorry,” said Brother Spear. “So who looks after you?”
“Oh, Mr. Fluffy and Emma look after me.”
“Mr. Fluffy?” queried Brother Spear.
“Yes, Mr. Fluffy. He has big teeth.” Rosie used her fingers next to her mouth to show how big Mr. Fluffy’s teeth were. “And he is very, very big.” Rosie made herself look bigger by sticking her elbows out and rising on her toes.
“Very scary,” said Brother Spear.
“He likes his ears being tickled.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Would you like to meet Emma?”
“Yes, please.”
“Emmmmmmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaa!” yelled Rosie. “We have guests!” Turning to the two men, Rosie said, “Follow me,” and started to skip off into the undergrowth.
***
The outskirts of the village of Westwood
Dennis Dransfield halted his horse on the outskirts of Westwood and looked around. It seemed that nothing and everything had changed since he left all those years ago. The village was bigger - more houses and a few extra shops had sprung up along the edge, but the basic shape and look was very familiar. Urging his horse to move forward, Dennis made his way through the busy main street. A gentle smile momentarily lit up his face when he saw his old house. Dennis kept on riding down the street.
Near the other end of the village was a new inn. Seeing this, Dennis made his way there. He dismounted, tied his horse to the post, and walked in. The building was fairly busy. As he made his way to the bar, he overheard a conversation between two men.
“Aren’t you afraid of the Brethren of the Night?”
“I’m not a fool! Of course I am afraid of those killers, but we have ourselves a secret weapon.”
“Oh, yes, I heard about that. It has already taken out a thousand of those killers.”
“And it will take out a thousand more.”
“A toast to it, then.”
“May it long look after us.”
“Excuse me, sir, but I could not help overhear your conversation. What is this secret weapon you have?”
The second man looked hard at Dennis. “Are you from around here? Your face… something familiar about it.”
Dennis smiled. “I just have one of those faces, sir.”
“Mmmm.”<
br />
“It’s the werewolf,” blurted out the first man.
“What?” asked Dennis.
“Shhhh, you fool!” declared the second man.
“No, please, tell me,” asked Dennis.
“Well,” said the second man, “we have a werewolf protecting us.” The second man looked around, making sure he wasn’t overheard. “Some say it's a man called Alex Dransfield, who was cursed by the evil wizard, Sol Step, many years ago.”
“While others,” added the first man, “say he is a prince from a far away land who is doing penance for unspeakable crimes.”
“Whatever the reason, the village of Westwood has a protector and he is keeping us safe.”
Dennis stood upright. “Thank you for your tale.”
“You are welcome,” said the second man. “So why are you here in Westwood, anyway?”
“I have come looking for my grandfather.” With that, Dennis continued to the bar.
“Who is your grandfather?” called out the first man.
“Alex Dransfield, the Beast of Westwood,” whispered Dennis to himself.
***
In the small village of Hobkirk
The Painted Man leaned on the tree and surveyed the settlement he had promised to defend. “Shite,” he muttered as he shook his head. “Why the fuck did I agree to this?”
“Because you are a good man,” a female voice said from behind him.
The Painted Man laughed loud and honestly. “You obviously don't know me.”
“Maybe you do it for her, then?”
The Painted Man turned round to see a middle-aged woman looking at him. “Maybe.”
“Or maybe you do it to repent your sins.”
“Now you are pushing your luck, lady,” growled the Painted Man.
“My apologies then, sir. Maybe we can start again? My name is Violet Fromboon.”
“That's a lot of 'maybes'.”
“Pardon?” asked Violet.
“I said that's a lot of 'maybes', Mrs. Fromboon.”
Violet thought back over their conversation. “I agree.”
The Painted Man slowly shook his head. “What do you want, Mrs. Fromboon?”
“I want you to teach me to use a dagger and a crossbow.”
“Why?”
“To defend myself when those savages arrive.”
“I would suggest poison.”
“What do you mean?” asked a confused Mrs. Fromboon.
“Find the strongest poison that you can and, when they get near you, take the poison.”
“How dare you, sir? I came to you asking for help and you give me that advice!” said Violet, clearly outraged.
Looking at her sadly, the Painted Man said, “You misunderstand me, Mrs. Fromboon. I am not mocking or belittling you. You are no match for the men that shall come here and they shall do terrible things to you. It would be far better to die swiftly and painlessly.”
“Do you then think that you shall die here, sir?”
“I am only one man, Mrs. Fromboon,” the Painted Man said, solemnly.
“Then why do you stay? Ah, that is where I came in, I think.”
“I think it was, Mrs. Fromboon.”
Violet gently touched the Painted Man's arm and asked, “What is your name?”
“Gordon.”
“Well, Gordon, we all die, eventually, and here is as good a place as any… and, if you have to die, at least die doing something meaningful.” Mrs. Fromboon patted Gordon's arm and smiled before moving away.
The Painted Man watched her with an amused smile before returning to what he was doing, which was secretly watching the man from the pub last night – the one that helped him in the fight – and was wondering why he was watching back.
***
Solomon Pace watched with interest the encounter between the woman and the Painted Man. “Why did you agree to guard this pitiful village, my friend?” mused Solomon. “And, more importantly, who actually are you?”
***
Here ends The Midnight Man
The story will end in the next and last book in the trilogy - I Am Mancer
As an independent publisher, I would greatly appreciate your honest feedback on this book. Let me know what you liked or where I can improve by posting a review on Amazon. I read all reviews.
Thank you,
Alan
