by Mark G Heath
“ Ansell,what are you doing?” asked Ringthane, his voice croaking.
“ Sorry about that,Lostrec, I needed to wake you.”
“ By smashing my window?”
“ I tried knocking but you wouldn’t wake up.”
Ringthane looked down at the shards of glass scattered across his living room floor
“ I have no need of this. Not today.”
“ I need to speak to you.”
“ You are doing so.”
“ No, I need to come in.”
“ What for?”
“ Its cold out here.”
“It’s cold in here now, since you smashed my window.”
“ I will have Audric come out and mend it for you today, I shall go to him as soon as we have spoken. Please, let me in,” asked Redway.
“ I am too tired to work, far too tired,” replied Ringthane.
“ No, it is about something else.”
“ Well, what is it?”
“ I need to come in.”
“ Why ? Just tell me and let me sleep.”
“ I cannot say out here. Someone may hear, you know.”
Ringthane gave an exasperated sigh.
“ You will send Audric out right away?”
“ Of course, just let me in to talk to you, please.”
“ Oh very well,” muttered Ringthane. He shuffled away from the window and opened the door before trudging to a seat and dropping into it. Redway entered the living room, his eyes focused on the golden crown just across from him.
“ What do you want to tell me?” asked Ringthane wearily.
“ Were some Manfurians here earlier?”
“Yes, Traen curse them.”
“ I thought so. I ran into two of them on the path. They were in rather a hurry. They were carrying some kind of case with them.”
“ Yes, I had carried out some work for them. The case contained the results of my work. Why are you so interested?”
“ I just wondered why they were acting in such haste.”
“ So have you completed your work for them?” asked Redway as he moved closer to the table.
“ Most definitely.” Ringthane raised his hand to rub at his brow.
Redway reached the table. A chest was placed on it also and he noticed that rather strangely a segment had been cloven from the centre of the table radiating outwards, yet the smoothness of the sides of the table made it look as if it was part of the table’s design.
“ You can sit down, you know.”
“ No, I don’t need to.”
“ So, what do you want to talk to me about, not the Manfurians surely?”
“ In part,” answered Redway.
“ What else then, be quick, I must sleep,” said Ringthane and he gave a yawn as if to emphasise the point.
“ Only this,” said Redway as the smith snatched up the crown.
“ Hey! That’s not yours,” protested Ringthane.
“ You no longer need it do you?”
“ That’s not the point, it belongs to Father Campion.”
Ringthane unsteadily rose to his feet.
“ Put it down and leave Ansell.”
“ I need this, it isn’t yours, why be concerned?”
“ Because it belongs to Father Campion and I don’t want to have to deal with him when he comes to collect it.”
“ Surely you aren’t going to try and stop me?” said Redway.
Ringthane looked down and shook his head.
“ I am in no position to do so,” he lowered himself to the chair once again.
“ Very wise,” said Redway.
“ You will have Campion at your door before the day is out.”
“ Not if you keep your mouth shut as to the crown’s whereabouts. Tell him someone broke in whilst you slept. He is not going to know, unless you tell him.”
“ I can’t do that, he is no fool.”
“ And you will be one, if you tell him I have the crown.” Redway crossed the living room and towered over the elderly gem invoker.
“ Understand ?”
Ringthane stared ahead.
“ Understand?” repeated Redway.
The gem invoker gave a slight nod.
“ Good. Now, I bid you farewell. I shall send Audric over to repair the window, as we agreed. I shall tell him that you are too unwell to attend on him yourself and that you asked me to send for him.”
Ringthane remained silent and closed his eyes.
“ Fare well Lostrec,” said Redway and he exited the property, pulling the door behind him shut. He stood on the porch and looked at the crown. Even in the dull light of the clouded day, the metal shone. Six indentations had been left from where the emeralds had been prised from where they had been set. Various symbols adorned the metal, crafted by nimble, skilled hands but they meant nothing to the smith. He held the crown up admiring the craftsmanship for he saw no join in the metal. The circlet was thick and six segments rose above it, ending in a small sphere, which had also been seamlessly attached. It was magnificent and probably more so had it not been desecrated for its gemstones. Redway lowered the crown and gave thanks to Selne for enabling him to gather it. He needed Grimoult to have requisitioned the white blood to enable him to begin his work. There was no point in melting the crown down without the Infusion of Melding. He would hide the crown at the smithy and then seek out the alchemist to ascertain what progress he had made. If necessary, he would remain with the old man until he had sourced the white blood and begun the creation of the infusion. If Campion came looking, he could deal with the priest, he had already bested two holy men today and a third would present no difficulty. With a mixture of relief and achievement, Redway jumped down the steps from the porch and set off back to the smithy.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Thaindire lay on the cold floor of the storeroom aware of movement around him. Pain wracked his body but this felt secondary to the confusion that clouded his mind. He recalled his encounter with the water witch and his chilled stumble back to the Last One Inn, but after that, there seemed to be a fog, which was suddenly and violently lifted as he fell to Tallow Bridge in agony, his sword hand removed. He tried to remember who he was fighting but saw only shapes in his mind’s eye. What had happened to him? Now he had been brought to the church, that much he was aware of and taken into its depths. The words of Novac floated in his head as he drifted in and out of consciousness. There were Manfurians in the village. How had he not seen them?
Somebody was lifting him and then he was lowered. The chill of the flagstones was replaced, not by warmth, but something far less cold and softer too. A pillow was placed under his head. He opened his eyes and saw a blood-red dress next to him. He turned his head and saw a woman, long auburn hair falling in spirals from her head, looking over him. There was more movement and a second woman, similarly attired to the first, although she had long, straight raven black hair, was also crouched down besides him. He felt a stinging sensation as something was brushed onto his wounds and he could hear the two women talking softly to one another. The sensation of pain began to recede and he was grateful for it. He started to drift into unconsciousness when the sound of screaming jolted him back to wakefulness. A woman was screaming and there was the sound of struggle.
“ Samael! Samael! Help me!” cried the female voice. He tried to twist to look towards the doorway but a gentle, restraining hand pressed on his shoulder, guiding him to lie down again.
“ No you bastards, no!” cried the voice again, this time louder. He recognised it ; it was Kathryn, from the inn.
“ Kathryn?” he croaked.
“ Hush there,” said one of the women and patted him softly.
The screaming and cursing continued and grew louder until the noise echoed about the room.
“ Samael, you’re there!” cried Kathryn. Thaindire managed to look towards the doorway where Kathryn was trying to hold onto the doorframe as two men pulled at her. A black robed arm reached across and
pulled her right arm, freeing her grip on the frame.
“ Kathryn, what’s happening?” questioned Thaindire weakly.
“ No, I swear I will kill you, you bald-headed bastard,” swore Kathryn as she was suddenly wrenched away from Thaindire’s sight.
“ Put her in there,” commanded a voice in a gruff tone. Thaindire heard more scuffling and then a yell.
“ You are going to pay for this,” said the voice. There was a single sound of a crack and a door slammed shut.
Thaindire slumped back as one of the women began to examine his stump. There was another stinging sensation and then a cup was being raised to his lips. He drank, grateful for the fluid, gulping at it, to lessen his thirst and then the cup was removed and a cloth wiped his mouth. Thaindire lowered his head as the sound of screaming came from the adjoining store and an intermittent shouting. There came a shriek and then the screaming subsided, being replaced by a sobbing sound entwined with an animalistic grunting.
“ Are you finished with him?” asked somebody from near the doorway.
“ Presently,” responded a gentle voice.
For the first time, Thaindire felt warmth returning to him, building from his stomach and slowly radiating outwards. Why had he been brought here ? Why was Kathryn here too? Who were these women? His mind gave up trying to make sense of his situation and as the blood maidens continued to tend to his wounds he slipped into unconsciousness. Methelda Ichor unchained Thaindire’s cloak and lifted it off him. It was unmarked, unlike his torn and slashed tunic. She carefully folded the garment and placed it to one side before returning to check Thaindire’s back for signs of injury. Methelda gave a short gasp as she looked over him.
“ What is it?” asked her sister maiden, Maigret.
“ Look, Maigret,” said Methelda pointing to Thaindire’s lower back.
“ By Selne’s needle,” remarked Maigret as she peered over the unconscious witch hunter. With the long cloak now removed, the scaled tail, which protruded from Thaindire’s back was visible. It lay still, resting on the mattress like a shortened third leg, tapering to a small barb.
“What is he?” asked Methelda.
“ A white blood, but I never knew they had tails,” said Maigret, still staring at the protrusion.
“ Should we tell Under Priest Tsangarides?” whispered Methelda glancing towards an acolyte guarding the door. He seemed more interested in the sobbing and laughing that was emanating from next door.
“ I should imagine we ought to. I am sure he knows already, but it would do no harm to bring this to his attention,” said Maigret.
“ Yes, you are right.”
A sudden shrill scream came from the storeroom and the berating calls of Talvace followed. The two blood maidens exchanged glances and hurried on with their work, cleaning and binding the injuries sustained by Thaindire.
Sanctus’ eyes flickered open. He looked at the empty bed across from him and then to the wooden wall beyond it. That’s right, Gabriel had freed him from his imprisonment. No longer need he stare at that earthen ceiling which formed his unchanging sky in Thorne’s basement. He closed his eyes and then snapped them open again. The room remained the same. He had escaped. Sanctus turned onto his back, stretching his legs, feeling stiffness as he moved them. He had been dreaming. He had been riding through a city, the inhabitants showering him with flowers of blue and white whilst a hot sun blazed in the sky. He was in a procession of riders, all receiving the adoration of the packed crowds either side of the road, people leaning from windows and balconies showering them with the cascade of flowers as the line of horse riders headed towards a tall, brilliant white tower. He did not know the significance of the dream, yet knew that he had felt peaceful, rather than triumphant, as if some great matter had been decided or a particular problem solved. His mouth was dry and he noticed that there was a jug and flagon set atop a cabinet, between the two beds. Grunting, he managed to swing his legs around off the bed and sit up. He reached for the jug and with a shaking hand just about managed to lift it, pouring the contents into the flagon, although his unsteady hand resulted in some hitting the floor. Where was Gabriel ? He took hold of the flagon and drank, the cool water wetting his cracked lips. He halted his drinking and listened ; but everything was silent. He looked to the window and could see through a slight gap in the heavy curtains that it was light outside. He drank again as he remembered that Gabriel had left him to arrest Thorne and gather the assistance of their brother witch hunters. Sanctus felt a flame of anger flicker into life inside him at the thought of Thorne. She and that priest, Campion, had kept him prisoner, slowly bleeding the life out of him as he lay there powerless to resist. He could not decide who was worse, the priest, with his repeated taunts or the cold, mechanical efficiency of the witch as she cut him and fastened lines to him, to draw the blood from him, each day weakening him, leaving him like this.
His head felt light and he took another drink before placing the now empty goblet back on the cabinet. The aching ran through him, from head to toe, as if he had been trampled by a stampede of horses. Groaning, he lowered himself to his bed once again and drew his legs beneath the blankets. How he had enjoyed seeing Gabriel run the priest through, silencing the demon. Now his brother witch hunter would have Thorne and would take her to the Order for trial and ultimately she would be burned for her witchery. How had such malign influences been able to flourish in this place? He recalled when he had arrived in the village and meet the Brother Knights. He had received a polite, if cool reception from them as they assured him that Aftlain was a peaceful place, a sanctuary from a prejudicial world and a haven for those who excelled in a multitude of crafts. How could those knights not see what this village was? They had bid him welcome to the village but explained that his visit would be short-lived as there was nothing for him to investigate. At first he thought the knights to be in league with the dark denizens of Aftlain, but it soon became apparent that they were completely oblivious to its foul underbelly. It was clear to him that the charismatic Campion held the Brother Knights in the palm of his hand, reporting to them only what they wanted to hear, namely that the village was ordered, productive and peaceful. What little those lofty knights knew. Perhaps, with Campion dead, the cloak of deception would be parted and they would see the village for what it was ; a veritable cauldron of malice, evil and witchery, simmering away beneath a seemingly placid veneer. Well, if they could not now, the arrival of a detachment of his brother witch hunters would readily rid them of their delusion. Sanctus closed his eyes, hoping to return to his dream of a triumphant procession and a hot sun.
Sir Joshua limped towards his seat and paused to select an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table nearby. His brother sat staring into the flames of the large fire, which blazed in the substantial fireplace, the room warmed by the dancing flames. Sir Joshua’s knee throbbed, testament to the injury he had sustained, but swift treatment from Alyssia aided by Lyndsey Remgaal had drawn much of the bruising out. His brother had sustained a more serious wound and Alyssia had worked quickly, her delicate hands, applying some kind of blue-coloured moss to the injury, to lessen the flow of blood before she was able to close the wound and bind it. The strike from Thaindire had proved one, which had resulted in Sir Simon no longer being able to continue the battle. Fortunately, Captain Reznik had arrived with consummate timing to complete the arrest of the demon. Sir Joshua sat in his ornately carved chair and took a bite of the apple.
“ How fares your leg, brother?” asked Sir Simon, shifting his russet gown as he turned to face his brother.
“ Alyssia’s knowledge has again proven most useful. I have a slight limp but nothing that will keep me from dealing with that demon. I should imagine that Reznik already has him. We shall attend on him on the morrow and have the charges read to him, now that he is subdued.”
“ Indeed. It was clear to me that Thaindire was in possession of demonic influence, hence the frenzy in his assault on us both. We did enough to we
aken him however, for Reznik to complete the task.”
“ Absolutely,” agreed Sir Joshua and took another bite of the apple.
“ I am pleased that the good village folk refrained from engaging in the fray, that would have lead to quite a mess I fear.”
“ Yes it would. They are wise enough to realise that their overseers had control of the situation.”
“ I cannot help but think that if Father Thomas had been in attendance, the matter would have proceeded without the resistance,” said Sir Simon.
“ I am inclined to accord with that thought brother. He would have obtained Benjamin and Kathryn Dromgoole’s assistance much more readily. As it is, Thomas Dromgoole showed his loyalty in alerting us to the flight of Thaindire.”
“ Very much so. I think that the time is nearing for Thomas to take a position here at the keep, as just reward for his loyalty to us. He has been a useful conduit of information over the last two years,” recommended Sir Simon.
“ I concur.”
The door to the knights’ private chamber opened and Sir Joshua turned to see their steward, Berwick Argadone bow and enter. His robes glided across the floor of the chamber as he walked across thick rugs, a book tucked under his right arm.
