Deathspell

by Peter Dawes

  The guards protecting the wall watched me charge for the open gate. Both scattered out of the way, granting me clear passage to the other side. I ignored the arrows sailing past, shot from the direction of the tower and barely missing me. While it bore the promise of more in its stead, I refused to slow, even to change direction, for fear one of them might hit. We continued at this pace until we put Plymouth at our backs, and even then I urged her not to stop just yet. Not until I was certain we hadn’t been followed.

  We stopped, at last, by a tree on the outskirts of town. I produced an apple taken from my supper and fed the mare, petting her mane as she ate and walking beside her for a short while, to make sure the sprint hadn’t lamed her. “We need to keep going, girl,” I said, frowning against the words, speaking them as much to myself as to the horse. The sun had fully set by then, leaving nothing but moonlight for us to travel by. After breaking off a piece of bread and eating it, I mounted Tempest once more and nudged her on at a significantly slower pace.

  Rolling hills and forest surrounded us on either side of the road headed north. Fatigue threatened to settle on me as we rode through a smaller satellite village and toward a larger town on the horizon. As we broke through another patch of forest, entering the far side of Tavistock, I felt the wind blow a chill through me and clutched my cloak shut against my body. The moorlands in the distance looked eerie at night, and just as I was tempted to chastise myself for the bout of nerves, Tempest reared and attempted to stop.

  “Come on, girl,” I said, squeezing my legs against her sides and prodding the reluctant mare onward. She sped back to a trot, but the chill turned frighteningly worse. Tempest halted and as I observed a strange hush to the collection of shops around us, I felt my heart race and nudged the horse again and again, trying to prod her along, but to no avail. Not a single soul inhabited the streets. And as a rush of air pierced through the night, the mare lifted up to her hind legs too quickly for me to compensate. I felt the world tip backward and only had the presence of mind to grip her mane in some effort not to spill out of the saddle.

  It proved not to be enough, however. As Tempest listed to the side, I lost my hold and the ground rushed up on me, impacting with one solid smack which radiated through my entire body, blossoms of agony springing up from my shoulder before dispersing elsewhere. I groaned and rolled to my side, struggling to catch my breath and grateful when flexing my fingers didn’t inspire fresh jolts of pain. The mare landed beside me, producing a pitiful whine, and as I glanced at her, I saw a bolt protruding from her front thigh, bearing a glimmer as it reflected the lights of a nearby inn.

  “What the bloody hell…” I began, but just as I wheezed the words out, I heard footsteps approach and felt a boot press hard into my shoulder, shifting me onto my back. It shoved down further, until I cried out for its owner to stop, and only then did my vision focus enough for me to regard the source of my discomfort. The ends of a crimson cloak came into view first, and then the rest of the man’s figure until my eyes met the gaze of my attacker.

  My blood ran cold when I saw who it was.

  The man who had haunted me since I was fourteen, whose memory fanned the flames of the quest which spanned the entirety of my adult life, peered down at me, a wolfish grin spreading across his lips. Something predatory lingered in the look he gave me, twisting my stomach into knots and freezing me into place for the time being. Marcus tilted his head as he regarded me, everything in the gesture suggesting he had weighed me and found me wanting.

  “Well, if it isn’t the whelp,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Not much better than the loins you sprang from when it comes to planning your escapes, but I’ll give your father credit, he at least knew how to be evasive.”

  “How did you…?” I started, but found it difficult to finish the question.

  “Find you? Please, the noble whore might be little more than an amateur, but you’re even less skilled than her. I’d been setting out to pay your friends a visit. Now I’m glad I lingered.” Marcus learned forward, sobering significantly as he looked into my eyes. My vision swam, my mind clouding faster than I could compensate, leaving me no recourse but to offer as much resistance as I could. He grinned as he sensed the struggle taking place within my head; the way my limbs turned to mud the same way they had at his master’s behest. It was as his lips parted that I saw them, however.

  Two sharp daggers hidden in a sea of otherwise dull teeth. I recalled the blade Richard had thrust through his chest, but seeing the points of his canines bore further testimony to the otherworldly. My thoughts cleared enough for me to compare the mental image of this man with the creature peering down at me. I gasped as an epiphany struck. He hadn’t aged a day since I was a fourteen year old boy.

  I knew I had underestimated the skill of my adversaries. Now, I found myself debating their humanity.

  My foe locked his gaze with mine, his grin never wavering. “Now, tell me, whelp,” he said, “What did you do with the medallion?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I beg your pardon?” I asked, before I could stop the question from drifting past my lips. It bore honest confusion in its cadence, something I couldn’t mask even if was in control of my full mental faculties. I furrowed my brow, eyes narrowing. “What of it?”

  Marcus sighed, the sound bearing no small amount of exasperation to it. “This is the problem with you amateurs,” he said. “You don’t know the value of something when you steal it, and you pay no mind not to lose it.” He clucked his tongue at me and shook his head, the action rueful. “I told Master to remove it from you the other night, but he didn’t want to raise your suspicions. Now, look where that’s gotten us.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he afforded me no chance. His foot applied more pressure to my shoulder, provoking me to bark out a cry of protest as the discomfort bordered on pain. The man – if he could even be referred to as such – laughed at the sound I produced. “Despite how much he claims not to believe in it, Master has himself convinced that destiny brought you to us,” he added. “Personally, I think he just has a soft spot for hopeless idiots, given his penchant for your family line.”

  “Funny you should say that,” I managed, even as the pressure intensified. He let up only enough to allow me to talk. Several fevered gulps for air passed through my chest before I could continue. “His predilection for hopeless idiots, that is. I suppose that would explain your presence in his camp.”

  “Only children attempt to unnerve grown men with such retorts.” For as nonplussed as he made the comment sound, the lift of his boot and the swift kick of his foot against my face seemed to suggest I had rattled him just the same. Fresh pain blossomed from the point of impact, but as the action forced my head away, I felt my senses swim back into coherence once more. He lowered his foot and crouched enough to touch my face and point it back to his. “Have you never figured out how to be a man?”

  My head swum anew, but not as pointedly as it had before he kicked me. I felt blood trickle from my nose and smiled despite the grief. “What use would that serve me?” I asked. “I wanted to grow up to be a thorn in your side.”

  “As though an insect like you could bear that power.”

  “Which is why you cowed when Talbot pointed out your jealousy toward my father, am I correct?”

  His hand wrapped around my throat and gripped it tight. It hindered my ability to draw in air, but loosened his attempt to place a hold on me. The bindings on my limbs loosened and my senses pulsed in time with the beating of my heart. If I could continue to fan the flames of his wrath, I stood the chance of getting the upper hand. My chin tilted in defiance even as his hold on me tightened. “Kill me,” I added. “Go on, and face your master’s wrath. You wanted the scroll? Does the medallion have some worth to you? Only I know where you can find both.”

  “I should flay you for the answers,” he retorted. The two sharp teeth in Marcus’s mouth grew in size until they perched above his bottom lip, his gaze screamin
g wrath. My focus wavered as shock rippled through me, my expression undoubtedly the reason why Marcus chuckled. “You throw barbs which have no meaning to you about items whose sole worth to you is sentimental. Bah.” He scoffed. “Just like Henri. One little flicker of humanity left in his heart and he used it to betray us.”

  “That makes your blood boil, doesn’t it?” My voice came out strained, but with defiance still present in my tone, even in the face of something utterly terrifying. “Talbot fancied my father quite a lot, I’d wager. Has a soft spot for me because of it and won’t allow you to harm a hair on my head. What is his directive? That I be captured and brought in unharmed? He relished that small taste of me he stole, didn’t he?”

  Marcus growled, but with that, the final vestiges of his hold on me broke. I lifted a hand, and without much thought, grabbed his wrist at the exact same time flames licked up my fingers and to his arm. The other man hollered with offense and stumbled backward, releasing me from his grip. As air filled my chest again, I emitted a series of coughs and stumbled to my feet, narrowing my eyes at Marcus as he seemed to recover at the same time.

  We stared down each other, both weighing the other for our next move.

  I reached for the hilt of my sword and drew it. While I hardly expected the action to be intimidating, the way Marcus smirked unnerved me. He pulled his own blade from its sheath and in the moments which followed, I assessed him better. Clad in the same sort of attire I wore, he had the added benefit of a breastplate over his chest that his cloak partially concealed. His movements were fluid, heedless of the armor he wore, which added another item to the list of otherworldly attributes. My gaze flicked to the flame-within-a-circle embroidered on the fabric before matching his once more.

  Marcus nodded toward my weapon. “Did your father teach you how to wield that?” he asked.

  Fighting the urge to tense, I mirrored his grin. “Perhaps what I first learned of it,” I said. “I promise I have only improved since then.”

  “Same cocksure attitude as him, too. I hate it.” The long, sharp teeth remained exposed as he paced to the side, forcing me to counter in the opposite direction. We started to trace the outside of a circle with our movements while unable to look away from the other. “Do you really think you’ll be able to kill me?”

  “I aim to attempt. Repeatedly, if I have to.”

  “You don’t even know what I am. Did your father spare you the details of his youth, whelp?”

  I bristled, attempting to keep the reaction to myself. “He certainly left out any mention of what unsavory friends he once had.”

  “Don’t insult me by referring to him as a friend.” Marcus chanced a step forward. I allowed him to claim it, while readying myself for whatever his first move would be. While my mind had cleared enough for me to fight, I couldn’t anticipate what his opening volley. It set my nerves on end, becoming both a benefit and a curse. My horse lay wounded on the ground nearby, jerking and whinnying in pain. I could feel the cut on my neck sting each time I exerted myself. But my senses remained attuned to the man before me.

  He came at me with no further warning, the flurry of blows an onslaught which put my reflexes to the test. For as much as I had observed the unencumbered nature of his movements, they shined all the more with each strike, forcing me to twist and step back to prevent further injury. Our blades impacted and pushing off only resulted in more intersecting blows. I pivoted away from one counterstrike. Surging at him, I attempted to put him on the defensive, but he responded by nearly knocking my blade out of my grip. As I struggled to regroup, Marcus laughed, sweeping a leg and using it to knock my footing out from underneath me.

  I fell to the ground with an unceremonious thud.

  Marcus thrust his blade at me. I rolled away in time to avoid being stabbed, but not soon enough to avoid him cutting into the fabric of my cloak. Kicking at one of his legs, I distracted him enough to scramble to my feet and lifted my sword in anticipation of another strike. My opponent stepped back unexpectedly, however, shaking his head while daring to turn his back on me. “And Talbot wants you turned,” he said, his tone rueful.

  “Turned? What does that…?” I began, but just as I issued the question, the ground beneath me rumbled and shifted my footing. I saw small trench dig itself through the dirt which separated us, and sprang from its path before it reached where I stood. The suddenness of the gesture forced me to skid to a stop and spin around to face him again, but Marcus appeared more bored than concerned. “What are you planning to do to me?” I asked.

  “Make the remainder of eternity miserable for you,” he countered, “If I have anything to say about it. Somehow, I doubt you’re going to be cooperative, even after we kill you.”

  “Speaking nonsense, are we? You’re worse than a priest.”

  “It will make plenty of sense shortly. As it stands, I’m growing bored with toying.” Marcus narrowed his eyes at me and I furrowed my brow, lost in a maze of riddles while attempting to figure out my next move. I felt the ground shift once more. Trusting only my instincts, I raced to close the distance between us and jumped just short of the point where the invisible force cut through the dirt again. Marcus turned as I swiped my blade across his skin, catching the side of his neck before landing on my feet on the other side. Without pausing for breath, I thrust the blade forward, hoping to impale him through his back.

  The moment I tried, however, a burst of air threw me backward, tossing me like a rag doll over my wounded mare and onto the road behind her. Tempest let out a pitiful whinny while I groaned, aware that my sword had been knocked from my grip only after the pain subsided enough to make thought possible. Lifting myself onto all fours, I tried to stand and let out a cry of agony when the same violent force which cut through dirt forced me onto my knees and twisted me in an uncomfortable manner. Tears danced in my eyes while sparks of light appeared in my periphery.

  “Stupid whelp.” The sound of Marcus’s voice became difficult to focus on the more I felt whatever spell he’d cast pull at my torso and limbs. Clenching my jaw, I tried to bite back any further noise on my part while listening to the sound of his footfalls close in on me. “You cut me across my face like that’ll make any difference,” he said.

  “All men die somehow,” I managed, though my words came out strained. At the same time, the evocation of the memory forced me to relive the other time in my life when I had seen Marcus suffer injury. Seeing the impotent plunge play out much the same at it had the first time, I recalled the amusement in Marcus’s eyes before he killed Richard Hardi. His words had been the last my father heard besides my shrill cries of disbelief. ‘You missed.’ It might have been the amount of pain running through me from head to spine, but something struck me as strange about the retort. Missed what? If the attempt had been so futile, then why did Marcus gloat?

  Another twist interrupted the thought momentarily. A bead of sweat formed on my forehead as I peered up to regard Marcus, sensing my expression contort all the more with the attempt to focus on anything other than grief. The sharp teeth which had served to intimidate had retracted back into place, the bleeding wound across his cheek seemingly an afterthought to him. He lifted a finger as though to illustrate this, wiping away some of the blood before he brought the tip to his mouth. Marcus licked it clean and shook his head. “You could always make this easier,” he said. “Both on yourself and us.”

  “And how would you suggest me doing so?”

  “Where are the scroll and the medallion?”

  I felt the sweat trickle down the side of my face on its way to my neck. My gaze fixed on the breastplate my antagonist wore while I thought of Paolo riding ahead of me, knowing he hadn’t yet reached home, let alone my brother’s farm. Still, the corner of my mouth curled, as if Jane’s cryptic smile had become contagious. Marcus narrowed his eyes at me while the epiphany struck. The breastplate. My father knew where to strike, but had not struck true, had he? He’d missed something vital.

  Richard Har
di had missed Marcus’s heart.

  Swallowing hard, I winced away the pain as much as possible, ignoring the rivulets of perspiration following in the wake of that first bead. Marcus pushed back the folds of his cloak and sheathed his sword while I clenched my eyes shut for a moment, struggling to focus on anything other than the magic being wrought against me. When I opened them again, I glanced from side to side. The gleam of my sword in the moonlight merged with the realization that I needed to latch onto the anger which had fashioned the adult I became one last time.

  “You killed my father, you bastard,” I said, my gaze turning severe. Marcus met my eyes again, raising an eyebrow, while I gritted my teeth and summoned it all. Years of pent up rage. The lost and confused adolescent I had been. The man he grew into. The feeling of the first time I killed someone and how much I wished from that point forth it had been Marcus’s corpse falling to my feet. For a moment, I didn’t give a damn who Henri had been or what this demon standing before me was. He was the one who took Richard Hardi away from me and he was meant to perish.

  His eyes widened as the ends of his cloak lit on fire. As the fabric went up in flames, he clamored to take it off and I struggled against his spell much as I had against Lawrence’s attempt to choke me. Whoever I was – whatever this birthright I bore entailed – I was something of value to them and not without reason. “Did Jane not warn you about me?” I asked, my grin turning downright cruel. “I told her what I wished to use my magic for and it seems I might get my wish.”

  My limbs loosened and I rose to a stand while reclaiming autonomy over my body. Marcus threw his crimson cloak onto the dirt while I dashed over to where my sword lay, picking it up and clutching onto the hilt while making the effort to race back toward him. The other man turned to face me in time for me to lift my unencumbered hand, palm facing upward. I narrowed my eyes at his arm, speaking one last time to the element I called a friend. Fire burst into life, forcing Marcus to lift the limb at just the right moment, giving me the only opportunity I knew would be afforded to me. After this, Marcus would be able to overwhelm me and it would be over.