The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5)

by William J. Benning

  As he continued to prowl, the world of Alain of Bezain suddenly vanished in a blinding flash of light. An instant later, when his vision cleared, the startled knight found that the filthy squalid Templar cell had been replaced by a small room of dazzling white dominated by a large gleaming metal chair.

  “Welcome, my friend,” an unfamiliar voice said to the still-dazed knight.

  Focussing his eyes in the harsh, white brightness, Alain saw two figures, both in black one-piece uniforms. One of the uniforms wore a black helmet with a silver reflecting visor that obscured the facial features. The second wore no helmet, but the swept back hair and the hook-nosed features gave Alain the impression of a huge bird of prey. With his vision clearing, Alain instinctively drew the dagger at his waist and lunged at the visored figure. Raising his right hand to strike a downward blow, Alain leapt at the figure. Two steps later, Alain brought the viciously sharp blade down to stab the uniform, but found his arm blocked by his opponents left arm. A savage vice-like grip seized his wrist as he tried to press down his attack. Then, Alain felt like someone had hit him in the face with a hammer as the Landing Trooper drove his right elbow into the dagger wielding knight’s nose and mouth.

  Stunned by the blow, Alain had no time to react as the Trooper planted his booted leg behind Alain’s knees and slammed his elbow into the knight’s face once again.

  His face smashed a second time, Alain felt himself topple over backwards as the dagger was wrenched from his grip. Unable to control his fall, Alain hit the pristine white floor with a heavy thud; knocking the breath from his body. And, still unable to react, with his lungs feeling like they were on fire, the Landing Trooper lifted him bodily into the chair where two metal bands clamped over his wrists securing them to the arms.

  “Prisoner pacified and secured, sir,” the Landing Trooper reported calmly, handing the Senior Security Officer Garn the dagger.

  Still gasping and wheezing, Alain of Bezain spat blood from his mouth as he tried to force air into his tortured lungs.

  “Not very friendly are you, my friend?” Garn asked casually, running his finger over the razor-sharp blade of the dagger.

  With a snarl of contempt, Alain of Bezain spat blood again at his questioner, which missed its intended target and splashed grotesquely on the pristine floor.

  “Looks like we’ve got a bit of a tough nut here. Trooper, perhaps you should introduce yourself.”

  Stepping forward, the Trooper raised the reflective visor to reveal his green, scaly skin and the lizard-like features of the Icharian species.

  “Hell-el-el-el-el-el-o, pretty boy,” the Icharian hissed breathily, his long forked tongue flickering out from behind the rows of viciously sharp, needle-like teeth.

  “In the name of God!?” Alain stammered in wide-eyed terror as he tried to shy away from the advancing face of the leering lizard-like creature.

  “Your God won’t be able to help you here, my friend,” Officer Garn promised as the terrified knight unsuccessfully tried to drag himself out of the chair to escape the horror that was only a few centimetres from his face.

  “Can I eat him, sir?” the Trooper leered menacingly as he flicked his forked tongue over the skin of the right cheek and neck of the horrified prisoner.

  “PLEASE! NO!” Alain of Bezain shrieked at the top of his lungs as he tried to turn his head away from the Icharian Landing Trooper.

  “Not yet, Trooper,” Garn smiled, knowing that there would be no further resistance from the knight.

  “PLEASE! GOD! MERCY!” Alain of Bezain pleaded as the Trooper pretended to take a bite, making a horrid snapping sound with his teeth.

  “No, Trooper, we’re going to have a little talk with our new friend here,” Garn smiled casually.

  “An eye, sir?” the Trooper pretended to wheedle. “Just as an appetiser, pretty please, sir?”

  “No, not even an eye, Trooper,” Garn replied. “But, if he decides not to tell us what we want to know…”

  “YES! YES! Whatever you want to know!” Alain interrupted, still making a futile attempt to avoid the grinning Trooper.

  “That’s better.” Garn smiled with a sigh. “Now, tell us about what your friend Amalric of Lusignan is up to?” It would be a very short interrogation.

  Chapter 28

  The Royal Palace, Jerusalem

  The Royal Seneschal, Joscelin of Edessa, sat forward and rested his elbows on the large counting table that dominated his tiny, cramped office. For the bearer of one of the Great Offices of State, the accommodations in the Royal Palace did not seem to adequately reflect his responsibilities or his status. However, that was part of the reality of High Office in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. The accommodations were cramped and inadequate for everyone. Looking at the ledger spread out in front of him, the man most trusted by the King of Jerusalem, the holder of the keys to the Royal Treasury, was pleased to note a healthy surplus in the Kingdom’s finances.

  Except, now there was some sort of Templar expedition heading for Jerusalem and the King was now assembling the Army, which was going to cost the Royal Treasury quiet a significant amount. The Royal finances were healthy due to the donation from the Outlanders, but a major military campaign would quickly run through that surplus leaving them all as poor as church mice once again. However, if the Kingdom was threatened, then money would have to be found to pay for its defence.

  As Joscelin wondered what sort of tactics he could employ to raise more revenue for the King, a bright, dazzling flash of brilliant white light from beneath the heavy wooden door frame caught the Seneschal’s attention. A moment after the flash had dissipated, three heavy knocks on the door clamoured for his attention.

  “Enter!” the Seneschal announced wearily, and sat back on his seat to await whatever problem this new visitor was sure to bring him.

  “My Lord Joscelin?” Senior Medical Officer Ullit Radkor, carrying what looked like a briefcase, entered the Seneschal’s office.

  “My dear friend!” Joscelin announced, rising from his seat, extending his arm in welcome. “What brings you to the Palace?”

  “Ill-tidings I’m afraid, My Lord,” Radkor said darkly as Senior Security Officer Garn and two of the black uniformed Landing Troopers shoved the force-shielding secured Alain of Bezain into the cramped room, and onto the hard, cold, stone floor.

  “Lord Alain?” Joscelin gasped. “What is the meaning of this?” He was startled at the appearance of a major landowner, warlord and divisional commander of the Army being held in custody by the Outlanders.

  “It would appear that our friend here has been plotting against the King.”

  “This is….this is impossible. Surely there must be some mistake?”

  “Oh no, no mistake, My Lord Seneschal,” Officer Garn joined the conversation. “One of our friend’s colleagues attempted to kill our First Admiral.”

  “Is this true?”

  “It was Pallon who tried to kill the Admiral! I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Wait,” Joscelin said as his mind raced at the implications, “Pallon is Marcroi’s man, who is in the service of Constable Amalric’s nephew?”

  “That’s what we found out as well,” Garn replied. “It would appear that Amalric of Lusignan is in league with the Templars approaching your city.”

  “Be careful what you say, my friend. Amalric of Lusignan is not a man to treat with lightly.”

  “We are aware of that Lord Joscelin,” Radkor spoke clearly. “We would not come to you unless we were entirely convinced of his involvement in this plot against the King.”

  “This plot against the King that you mention, how does Lord Amalric fit into it exactly?” Joscelin asked, sensing that the Outlanders did not make outrageous claims without being able to back them up.

  “It seems that Lord Amalric was to bring a contingent of the Army of Jerusalem to Muscigny to join up with the Templar forces,” Garn said.

  “You do realise, of course, that the Constable has gained permission
from the King to lead a force to Muscigny to hold up the Templars whilst His Majesty deals with the seaborne invasion?” Joscelin asked suspiciously.

  “You mean the fleet of fifty odd ships sailing south from Acre with no troops or horses aboard them?” Officer Garn asked.

  “Lord Amalric’s spies tell us that there are six hundred fully laden vessels…”

  “Perhaps, you ought to see for yourself.” Radkor smiled, fully opening up the briefcase device and laying it down flat on the floor in front of Joscelin. With the remote control, Radkor initiated the three-dimensional viewer, and within moments an image of ships in full sail, cutting through the blue-green ocean, began to appear above the viewer.

  “This is what we call a live-feed from one of our flying ships,” Radkor explained. “This is what is actually happening just off the coast as we are speaking.”

  “This is amazing,” a wide eyed and astonished Joscelin exclaimed.

  “As you can see My Lord,” Radkor drew out the image to show a fleet of fifty ships in five columns of ten, “there are no six hundred ships.”

  “Remarkable,” Joscelin marvelled as he tried to reach and touch the image, but he found his hand passed right through it.

  “If you’ll look closely, My Lord,” Radkor said, bringing one of the ships into closer focus. “See how high the vessel rides in the water?”

  “Because she’s not carrying any cargo, and you say this is actually happening right now?”

  “If you don’t believe me, My Lord, step out onto your balcony.”

  Cautiously, Joscelin stood up and walked the three or four steps across the room to the balcony that overlooked the High Council Courtyard. Pulling in a signal from the satellite over Jerusalem, Radkor focussed down on the Palace.

  “You recognise that, My Lord?”

  Having experienced the terror of the landing from the Personnel Carrier, Joscelin was able to confirm to himself the Palace as seen from above.

  “Now, we focus down a bit further to the Courtyard outside, and there you are My Lord,” Radkor announced as the image closed down to Joscelin standing on the balcony staring into the room.

  “But that’s…” Joscelin muttered in incredulity as he rapidly switched his gaze from the sky to the three dimensional image of himself staring into his own office from his balcony.

  “Impossible, My Lord Joscelin? Raise up your arm and wave.”

  Very calmly and gently, Joscelin of Edessa raised his left arm and began to wave it back and forth over his head. On the three dimensional viewer image, the astonished Seneschal could see himself waving to the sky. For several long seconds he continued to wave, before slowly lowering his arm.

  “And, you can also see the Templars?”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  On this image, foot soldiers in white coats were trudging in a long line along the side of a dusty road. Carts and wagons drawn by weary horses cluttered up the roadway, whilst cavalry pickets patrolled the flanks of the advancing force.

  “Where is this?”

  “About three or four days march from Jerusalem,” Officer Garn replied with professional confidence.

  “We must inform His Majesty, immediately.”

  “I believe that would be a very good idea, My Lord,” Radkor smiled as he disconnected the viewer, the image vanishing almost instantly.

  “Yes, we must, those ships are a diversion.”

  “Excellent idea, My Lord, and perhaps, His Majesty would consider the strategy suggested by the First Admiral?”

  “What strategy?”

  “The First Admiral is prepared to join forces with His Majesty to prevent loss of life.”

  “But, these traitors must be stamped out, crushed, and executed!”

  “How His Majesty chooses to punish those who have betrayed him is entirely the affair of the King himself, but the Templars planning to massacre those who do not convert to Christianity is something the First Admiral will not abide.”

  “Massacre?” Joscelin questioned and drew his dagger from is belt. “Is this true?” he snarled, holding the blade to Alain of Bezain’s throat.

  “Yes!” the terrified prisoner blurted. “We were to be allowed to kill and loot as we pleased, but I wanted no part…”

  “Shut up, worm! I ought to cut your throat here and now.” He scowled, then thought for a moment as he replaced the dagger.

  “Very well,” Joscelin said decisively. “We will go and find His Majesty, and bring your picture box thing too.”

  Chapter 29

  The Citadel, Damascus, May 16th

  The anti-gravity generators whined shrilly as the three-compartment Universal Alliance Troop Transport pivoted gracefully over the south courtyard and dropped down slowly to a perfect landing.

  In the courtyard itself, panicked soldiers and courtiers scattered in all directions; fleeing for their lives in the face of the terrifying gleaming pale-blue monster that had just landed in their midst. Crossbows and lances were pointed at the flame snarling beast by terrified guards as more soldiers spilled out from their barracks and into the screaming, seething mass of humanity in the courtyard. And, as the whine of the anti-gravity generators slowed to a deeper drone, the soldiers began to make a nervous cordon around the gleaming and terrifying intruder.

  Inside the Transport, First Admiral Billy Caudwell checked his appearance on one of the two dimensional View Screens in the first compartment, and pronounced himself happy with his turn out. After all, he considered, you couldn’t go visiting Royalty looking like a scruff-bag, could you now? Sliding his hand into the image of the one-piece uniform overall, Billy drew the pulsar pistol from the holster and checked that it was primed to the lowest setting. Then, satisfied that the pistol was not about to accidently kill someone, he slipped it back under the camouflage of his Personal Environment Suit image. With the pistol secured, Billy checked the Landing Trooper Battle-Blade in his boot before establishing full force shielding on the PES and making sure that the teleport mechanism would activate instantly upon receiving his thought-command.

  With the last of the civilians clearing the courtyard, Billy dropped the hatch on the first segment of the Transport open, and strolled nonchalantly down the five steps to the courtyard floor. In the brilliant sunshine of a Damascus afternoon, Billy noted that there wasn’t a cloud in the perfectly blue sky.

  “Good afternoon, everyone!” Billy announced loudly as the hatch on the Transport closed silently behind him, the ULTra device in the Personal Environment Suit translating his words.

  Amidst much shouting and confused protests, the shocked and frightened soldiers in the courtyard dodged nervously at their posts, pointing their weaponry at the intruder who had emerged from the flying beast. The braver soldiers nervously edged forwards with razor sharp weapons pointed at the blue-overalled stranger. The less courageous edged backwards with their pointed weapons, seeking safety in numbers amongst their equally terrified comrades.

  Holding his empty hands up in front of him, Billy turned them over to indicate that he was unarmed as the soldiers continued to shout and yell contradictory orders and threats to each other and the newcomer. Crossing his arms across his chest, Billy waited patiently, with a smile of wry amusement, for someone to establish some kind of order from the chaos that had broken out with his less than orthodox arrival.

  “Be Quiet!!” a Saracen officer finally shouted at the top of his voice to bring some form of order to the courtyard.

  A few seconds later, the last of the terrified cries were silenced as the officer strode confidently towards Billy. Scrutinising the tall, battle-scarred officer, dressed almost entirely in black with a gleaming metal breastplate and conical helmet, Billy could see that this was a man who knew his trade.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” Billy snapped his heels together and gave a short bow. “Admiral Caudwell of Muscigny to see His Majesty the Sultan,” he announced. “I don’t have an appointment, but it is rather important.”

  “Welcome, Adm
iral.” The Saracen officer saluted with a bow, without setting the curved scimitar in his hand back into its scabbard. “I shall enquire if his Majesty is available to see you.”

  The officer spoke with the assurance of a man used to giving orders and being obeyed. Billy nodded at the returned compliment and was glad that he was dealing with someone who was not likely to panic and do something stupid. Turning from Billy, the officer looked up at one of the numerous balconies around the courtyard, which were crammed with anxious and curious people, and looked to a dark figure dressed in black. The figure nodded briefly to the officer and then walked calmly back into the chamber that adjoined the balcony.

  “His Majesty would be pleased to grant you an audience, if you would please follow me.”

  “No need,” Billy replied with a smile. “I can find my own way, thank you,” he added and issued the thought-command via the PES to the teleporter in the Transport.

  An instant later, the newly arrived stranger vanished from the courtyard in a blinding flash of brilliant white light that dazzled the already confused and frightened soldiers.

  In the Private Apartments of the Sultan, a blinding flash of light announced the arrival of the unexpected guest from the courtyard. Stunned by the sudden flash of dazzling light, the Sultan, through years of practice, managed not to show any surprise as a human being emerged from the blinding flash.

  “Peace be upon you, Your Majesty,” Billy bowed as guards came bursting into the Chamber to protect the Sultan.

  “And, upon you be peace,” the Sultan replied as he waved the ‘dismiss’ gesture to the guards.

  “My apologies for the intrusion, Your Majesty, Admiral Caudwell of Muscigny, and, may I say that it is a great honour to meet you.”

  “You flatter me, My Lord Admiral,” the Sultan said diplomatically as he ushered Billy to sit at the table surrounded by cushions that stood in the corner of the room.