Deathspell

by Peter Dawes

  The longer I waited, however, the more a strange premonition washed over me, summoning memories I normally prevented myself from entertaining. For the first time in a long while, a recollection of my father’s passing wafted through my mind like the unwelcomed ghost it was, setting me on edge. “It's all in your head, Christian,” I said, scolding myself as I climbed an adjacent tree, and sat perched on one of its branches. My dagger remained sheathed, my thoughts shifting back to my purpose in being there as a cold breeze drifted past me, inspiring a shiver. Inhaling with slow, measured breaths, I gripped onto the branch, just in time for the front door to the home directly across from me to swing open.

  I stilled myself instantly when a figure emerged from within. A tall, fair-complected man of average build with a nobleman’s sword strapped to his side, his hair was light enough to give the impression he might almost be ginger, calling to mind the description written on Roland’s parchment. A woman accompanied him – an unexpected addition, and yet, one that looked less than pleased to be by his side. Her hair flowed across her shoulders in dark waves of brown, a burnt sienna to his dirty, strawberry blonde.

  He nudged her along toward the street, with her silence the only protest she seemed apt to offer. Furrowing my brow, I mused upon what would force either of them out at such a late hour, watching as they rounded a bend and disappeared from sight. Shaking off the last of the apprehension which had buffeted me, I jumped soundlessly from the tree and crouched low. Years of this type of work made and the fact that I had not observed any guards or servants made it simple to slip into the house undetected. Once inside I found myself in a large room that looked to be the great hall.

  Lanterns remained lit around the house as did the hearth, ensuring that setting the place ablaze would be an easy task. As such, it gave me the chance to peer around its confines. The manor itself was larger than even Lord Bertrand's, with lavish stairs winding upward to a second story and high, vaulted ceilings on the main floor. Pausing first to check again for servants, and confirming their absence, I found the room which clearly served as a personal study and marveled at the opulence on display. “Perhaps I am being underpaid,” I murmured while stepping lightly toward the mantle. The ambient glow from the adjacent room guided me while lighting one of the oil lamps. Putting away my tinderbox, I surveyed the area in greater detail.

  Books were arranged along one side of the wall. A table bore a quill and ink, with several pieces of parchment laid out in a haphazard fashion. I stole a glimpse at these first and moved on to the shelves when I failed to see anything of consequence. Pulling one of the volumes down, I held it up and examined the pages before sliding it back into place, curiosity getting the better of me.

  The next book bore interesting binding, but its contents were irrelevant to me as well. As I took the one beside it down, I caught sight of something from the corner of my eye which took me aback. Half expecting I might have been hallucinating, I stared at the emblem on the cover, and plucked it from the shelf immediately, shoving the other book back into place. The fire in the center of a circle – the mark of the men who had killed Richard Hardi – adorned the volume. “You’re in bed with the Devil as well,” I said softly, tempted toward a moment’s indulgence and all-too-willing to submit.

  The tome looked read-through, the spine relaxed and flipping open to a section of pages toward the middle as it rested in my palm. I saw symbols sketched next to lines of handwritten Latin, most of which I could interpret with only a fledgling knowledge of the language. Sitting on the edge of the desk, I turned each page, desperate to figure out what I was looking at while already knowing I would be taking it with me. Unfortunately, it caused me to lost track of time in the process.

  I was startled away from my reading when the door creaked open, forcing me to tuck the book behind my back beneath my cloak. Glancing around quickly for an impromptu strategy, I remained mired in indecision long enough to be spotted the moment the youthful man entered the room with his lady in tow. He paused his steps and I fingered the hilt of my sword when he looked to be weighing his next move. “Well, how do you like this, Jane?” he asked. “A rat in the library. Do we have ourselves a literate thief?”

  Still wearing the same attire as when I first saw him on the street, he drew his sword and pointed at me. His female companion lifted an eyebrow, an expression I mirrored when my gaze shifted back to him. “Should reading be reserved for the aristocracy, Sir?” I asked. The corner of my mouth curled in a grin. “Perhaps I was bored and in need of more enlightenment.”

  “I believe you’ll be leaving with far less than enlightenment.” He advanced forward a pace, causing me to step back. “What is the meaning of that emblem on your cloak?”

  “Much the same as what I might find on one of yours. I imagine you have a fetching red one hidden off somewhere.”

  Sir Lawrence paused in his steps, his eyes widening at me. The lady looked troubled as well, and motioned to advance forward, but he took notice quickly enough for him to shove her backward several paces. “This piece of filth is mine to handle,” he said. “Get into my room and prepare yourself. I haven’t finished with you yet.”

  I furrowed my brow at the act which played out before me, Jane staring defiantly at him and Lawrence extending a hand to slap her across her face. As she rubbed her cheek, my temper flared, the distraction enough time for me to draw my sword from its sheath, the sound prompting Lawrence’s focus back to me. He narrowed his eyes. “You know of the Luminaries,” he said, “And yet you would challenge me. You must truly be an idiot.”

  “The Luminaries.” I repeated the name as a reflex, hearing it uttered for the first time and caught up in revelation as a result. The bastards who had robbed me of my father bore a title I could finally speak. Whether or not surprise showed in my expression, I cared very little, and brushed it aside just as quickly as it had surfaced. “I might be an idiot,” I continued, “But at least I am not a cretin like you.”

  He looked more insulted than offended. “A peasant thief with the audacity to judge the character of a knight. I’ll be certain to remove parts of you before I finish you off.”

  “A man who treats a woman of noble birth like little more than a whore in my presence should hardly call himself a knight.” My eyes shifted quickly to Jane, thoughts becoming splintered across several paths as her brow smoothed, her shoulders lowering to a more relaxed posture, before my gaze flicked back to Lawrence. “I thought your ilk were supposed to be chivalrous.”

  “And I thought yours little more than swindlers.” The hand on his chest rose, a finger wagging at me in the process. “She knows who her keepers are.”

  “Knows, perhaps, but I can tell you right now which of the two of us she’s probably favoring.” A smirk lilted across my lips.

  Lawrence gritted his teeth. “Enough. I grow tired of you.” He gripped hilt of his sword in both palms again, his posture settling into an offensive stance. It was enough of a warning that I had time to draw my own weapon before he took a practiced swing, forcing me to dodge and side step away. I had not determined which of us would attempt the first blow, but that I had unnerved him enough to force his hand worked in my favor. Anticipating the next attempt, I cut to the side and jumped atop the desk, avoiding his blade in the process.

  He spun around and glowered at me. I shook my head. “You’re going to have me prolonging the inevitable just so I can keep toying with you,” I said.

  “Insolent peasant,” he muttered. Lawrence regrouped quickly, swinging much more frantically and forcing me to dodge a second time. I leaped from the desk, disrupting the few papers still on its surface. Kicking a chair at him, I created an obstacle between us he needed to circle in order to get to me. When our swords finally clashed, I had him on the defensive, pushing him off and catching another blow with my blade.

  “Who the bloody hell taught you your sword skills, a barbarian?” I asked.

  “Quiet, while I kill you.” His heels touched the fall
en chair, prompting him to kick it backward and perilously close to where Lady Jane stood. I stole the chance to swing for him, not surprised when he parried and retaliated. One hand behind my back, I let him press forward, gaging each step I took with caution while my sword caught each blow.

  Risking a quick glance to the side, I judged how to change our path before springing to one side the next time he swung. The maneuver granted us more room, and me a chance to weigh disarming him. Sweat beaded on his forehead. I pivoted one way first, then another, not having to raise my weapon to avoid the two poorly timed shots. He charged and I spun, and with that the door of opportunity swung wide open for me.

  I jammed my heel onto his foot. As he winced, I clubbed him in the jaw with the hilt of my sword and sent him stumbling to the side. The action forced him to let go of his weapon with one hand, and as the other struggled with the sudden weight of the sword, I reached for his wrist. Lawrence shouted obscenities, pawing at me with his now-unencumbered hand for me to let him go.

  In the effort to rear back for the fatal blow, I left him enough room to swing a punch for me. While I managed to maintain my hold on his sword-laden arm, my focus had been disrupted to my peril. I drove my blade forward blindly, making the most foolish of errors in the process, and paying for it dearly when he took hold of my wrist and squeezed. I emitted a cry of offense. My weapon fell from my grip just as I clenched my jaw. “Dirty, cheating bastard,” I said, twisting his arm in retribution.

  He cried out as well. “Just bloody give up and die,” Lawrence managed in return.

  I scoffed. Lifting a foot, I drove it into his knee and distracted him long enough to pull free of his hold. Despite the throbbing left in its wake, I reached for a dagger and swiftly pulled it, plunging it into his shoulder and forcing him to drop his own blade. He produced a blood-curdling scream even when I removed it and pressed the tip against his throat. “Now, which of the two of us is going to die?” I spat through clenched teeth.

  All at once, the look he gave me spoke to me just how much I had underestimated my opponent. Something sinister danced in his gaze, a sudden air emanating from him which had not been present during the duration of our fight. The way the tenor between us shifted rang horribly familiar, reminding me of the man who had pulled a blade from his chest before murdering my father. A shiver of dread ran up my spine. The muscles in my throat began to tighten. An ungodly amount of pain surged through my neck, until my grip upon my dagger relented, sending it clanging to the floor.

  I stumbled backward and clutched at my throat with both hands. Gasping for one last breath, I managed it, but felt another squeeze stop me from taking the next. Sir Lawrence stood straighter, blood trickling from the wound I had inflicted, but determination written all over his face. I barked out a cough, but started to feel dizzy, both confused and panicked that he wasn’t even touching me and yet managing to somehow strangle me. The recollection of Old John falling to the ground served as a chilling reminder; unless I fought back, I would surely perish the same way the innkeeper had.

  No, something inside of me seemed to declare. He would not take me down so easily.

  The invisible fingers coiled tighter, bent on crushing my ability to breathe. At the risk of regretting the decision, I clawed at my throat while attempting to concentrate on the invisible force being inflicted on me. I imagined his hands and fought to grab hold of them, using what little strength I possessed to loosen their grip. At first, I wondered if this might be an exercise in futility, but at the precise moment that the world started to go black, the choke started to waver and air rushed into my lungs again.

  I broke into a series of coughs, my survival instincts honed on the singular motivation to stay alive. My hands continued yanking and tugging and I knew the instant the hold broke as I collapsed. Still hacking and now, adding a groan in the process, I struggled onto all fours, clearing my throat while the room spun and my vision switched from blurry to half-focus.

  The moment my gaze fixed on Sir Lawrence again, his brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t have been able to do that,” he declared. His gaze flicked quickly to Jane before returning to me. “Are you a sorcerer?”

  I laughed as much as possible, my voice hoarse and another coughing fit punctuating the action. My hand clutched onto the edge of another set of shelves for support while I cleared my throat. “Yes, absolutely, I’m just posing as a mercenary to alleviate boredom,” I said. Plucking my sword from the ground, I shakily rose to a stand. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “What are you, then?” When I motioned closer, Lawrence raised a hand. The genuine look of terror on his face left me confused, but at a clear advantage. “Don’t step any closer, or else.”

  “Or else what? You might sneeze at me?” The rapidly shifting dynamic forced me on the razor’s edge. I took another step toward him. “I have orders to kill you.”

  “What orders? From who?”

  “A fairly wealthy individual, needless to say, and I enjoy being paid.”

  “No.” He shook his head, backing away a few paces until he hit the wall of books behind him. “Tell Talbot I’m getting close. Tell him to give me more time.” His face contorted and he dashed to the side scrambling for his sword and lifting it with his uninjured arm. “This doesn’t have to get bloody.”

  “Considering you just tried to kill me, I think this has to get exceptionally bloody.”

  “I can pay you better.”

  I laughed. “If I had a gold coin for each time such an offer has been presented to me, I would be able to purchase a noble title.”

  Sir Lawrence threw a desperate swing for me and my anger got the better of me. With one violent arc, I knocked the sword from his hand and when I thrust the blade forward, it plunged through his stomach, cutting through to the other side. His eyes turned wide and he stared at me with a macabre expression on his face. “The flame of the eternal will not be extinguished,” he said.

  As I pulled my sword from his stomach, Lawrence fell to his knees and then, collapsed onto the floor.

  The recitation of those words startled me as I watched his body still. Their echo in my mind, coupled with the mention this man named Talbot – made me wish for the first time I had spared his life a while longer. Staring at the blood which pooled beneath his corpse, I sighed and wiped his blood from my sword. “Stupid, impetuous man,” I murmured, unable to look away.

  The sound of rustling in the background knocked me from my stupor, however. Turning around, I remembered Jane once more as she regarded me from the doorway, an unreadable expression on her face. Her gaze flicked from my sword to my eyes while I furrowed my brow at her, wondering what she intended to do. Everything about her posture suggested she might flee. But surely she didn’t think…

  Jane called my bluff. Spinning around, she pulled up her skirts and dashed for the front entrance, leaving me stupefied until she threw open the door. At that precise moment, my brain engaged and instructed the rest of my body that I might not want a witness to escape into the night.

  Sliding the sword back into its sheath, I pursued her.

  She had left the door wide open, which aided in my pursuit, but if I considered myself swift, she managed to be swifter, even with the folds of her dress conspiring to slow her down. Jane made a frantic dash in the opposite direction of the escape path I had planned, past the cathedral and into a less-familiar section of town. Swearing under my breath, I poured all I could into the effort of catching up, wincing when I saw her turn out of sight. I rounded the same corner she had, then skidded to a stop once I emerged around the other side.

  Lady Jane had completely vanished.

  The absence of her presence confused me at first, too many options opening up before me with no time for me to make the wrong choice. Spinning around once, I took a deep breath and stepped cautiously in the direction of an intersecting street, noting the area bereft of any sort of candlelight or hearth light from any of the windows I passed. On
ly the moon and stars provided light to me, with not a sound to be heard belonging to a fleeing woman. I dashed for the next road, then looked both ways and retraced my steps. In an act of desperation, I scaled the wall of an adjacent tavern and peered around from the rooftop, expecting to see a fleeing woman in the distance.

  Nothing. Not a damn thing.

  “What the bloody hell is happening tonight?” I asked aloud, fingers running up to comb through disheveled locks of hair.

  My hand trembled as I lowered it. Swallowing back a slight surge of nerves, I stole one final look around and managed my way down from the roof. For a while, I was able to distract myself with the thought that unless I found Jane, my head might join the others mounted on pikes, but as hours passed with no sight of her anywhere, more unsettling thoughts came upon me, leading me back to Lawrence’s house. Reflexively, I patted my back, feeling the book I had stolen still present in its hiding place. I had almost died, I told myself. And I had been accused of sorcery.

  My brow furrowed. I felt the urge to produce the tome again, but knew to linger much longer ran the risk of sunlight unmasking me before more sets of eyes than just one. Shaking myself free of a thousand clamoring thoughts, I felt the embers of fatigue surging to a full inferno and reminded myself that fire is what had summoned me here. My final act, before putting the residence of the late Sir Lawrence behind me, was to set it ablaze.

  Stepping out onto the street, I ducked into hiding before allowing myself to admire my handiwork. The lone house stood enough of a distance away from anything to spare any further property the risk of igniting, but if I had to be honest with myself, I held no fear of its destructive force. Something inside the glow of orange red whispered to me with a voice I had never heard before, its muttering indistinct, but present just the same.