Black Cross

by J. P. Ashman

  Sav visibly relaxed too, constantly breathing in the fresh woodland air, a smell he could only describe to the others as ‘green’ much to their amusement.

  A kingfisher darted across the river, a flash of blue and shimmering orange as it landed on a low, overhanging branch, the rushing water close to its tail as the thin branch bobbed up and down with the added weight. Various birds sang throughout the wooded areas; ‘the dawn chorus’ Sav had called it and Errolas had nodded his agreement.

  The group made to leave Beresford early in the morning, with no sleep and no food in their bellies. As they were leaving, however, the townsfolk had pushed bundles of food into their hands in thanks for helping them safely cross the bridge the night before. The remaining garrison had told the group that riders had been dispatched to call for aid as far away as Rowberry, so help would arrive. When, they didn’t know, but they were confident it would arrive eventually.

  The goblins would not attempt a crossing during the day the group knew, and so Fal had finally agreed it was time to leave, knowing as he did that their mission needed to be completed. They'd collected horses from the eastern bank’s stables and Correia had paid the owners handsomely, knowing the money would go towards rebuilding the western side of the town.

  They'd been walking and cantering at intervals for the past couple of hours, heading south along the river, waiting for Errolas to give the order to head inland towards his homeland. Until that order came, the group enjoyed a pleasant ride through the countryside on the eastern shore of the Norln, which provided the first proper chance to catch up with Severun, about his ‘execution’ and where he'd been since.

  ‘I was really there, it was no Illusion,’ Severun corrected, as Starks scratched his head.

  ‘But you’re not burnt at all. Oh, Lord Severun it was awful, I feel ashamed I didn’t try to act like Sergeant Fal and Sav did,’ Starks said, nodding towards the two men riding on the other side of the cloaked wizard.

  Sav leaned forward in his saddle and looked across to the young crossbowman. ‘Oh no, Starksy lad, Fal was trying to stop me save Severun, not help me.’

  ‘Thanks, Sav,’ Fal muttered.

  Severun laughed. ‘Don’t think more of it, gentlemen,’ Severun said, finding mirth for the first time since he’d re-appeared. ‘I wish I could have told you, but King Barrison wanted no one to know, no one but Correia, Errolas and his high lords of course.’

  ‘So that’s what Lord Strickland was doing,’ Fal said in sudden realisation. ‘He was casting a spell?’

  Severun smiled and shook his head. ‘No, he was preparing a spell and then passing it to me, for want of a better word. I then enacted the spell when the flames rose around me, which was extremely close since I’d been keeping them just far enough away to save my skin, literally. Although I am sure it looked like I was cooking on that pyre. The clothes really started to burn though and I don’t mind saying, I was terrified. Once the spell had been passed to me by Lord Strickland, however, I was able to use its stored magic, along with my own magical reserves, to transport away from that place; out of my burning clothing and into a nearby building. It takes a lot of magical and physical energy to transport, as well as time to prepare, hence Lord Strickland’s preparation for me, as well as the safe-house he’d organised. Once my ‘execution’ was over, he came to me with fresh clothes…’ Severun looked down and sniffed the black robes and cloak he wore and grimaced. ‘Not very fresh now mind. He then helped me out of the city.’

  Starks beamed at the wizard. ‘That’s truly amazing.’

  ‘It is pretty impressive,’ Fal said genuinely, a smile lighting his face, ‘and I’m sure I speak for us all when I say we’re glad you’re alive and well.’

  ‘I thank you all, gentlemen, but I’m far from well. Oh, physically yes, but what I’ve done to Wesson… it hardly leaves me feeling well, or even that I deserve to be alive.’

  ‘Hush now,’ Correia said from behind. Her horse moved forward, between Severun and Starks’ and she leaned over and laid her hand on the wizard’s. ‘We have much left to do and we cannot afford for you to think like that. So be glad King Barrison spared you, to put right what you, unknowingly at the time remember, did wrong.’

  Severun managed a weak smile and nodded to the woman at his side. ‘Thank you Correia, you have always been a good friend to me, and your family to mine before me.’

  The others looked at each other surprised and more than a little intrigued, but shrugged it off as Errolas motioned ahead for them to take an upcoming path east.

  The group rode on, moving away from the River Norln and through the small wood they'd entered, heading further inland, further to the east and closer to the realm of the elves.

  Chapter 37: History Lesson

  Sears and Coppin had both been sleeping – despite Sears’ attempts to stay awake – when a knock at the door woke them both. Climbing to his feet and drawing his short-sword in one move, Sears crossed the small room to the door, Coppin’s worried eyes on his back.

  The knock came again and Sears pressed his ear against the door. His look of relief was obvious to Coppin as Longoss declare himself on the other side. The large guardsman held his hand up to stay Coppin whilst he opened the door to the former assassin.

  ‘Shitting hell,’ Sears said, as Longoss staggered through the door, a bundle of blood stained clothes and another bundle of what looked like food cradled in his thick, bloodied arms.

  Coppin gasped and Longoss’ gold teeth flashed before he dropped the bundles and fell to the straw covered floor. Sears missed catching the man because he’d quickly peered outside. Hearing the thump behind him, he closed the door and locked it.

  ‘Sears, help me,’ Coppin said, after rushing across the floor to Longoss.

  Dropping to one knee, Sears instinctively reached back for his flask, which he brought round to Longoss’ lips.

  The former assassin shook his head, attempting to wave his companions away as Coppin pulled at his torn, blood soaked shirt to see the wounds beneath – especially the shoulder.

  ‘We drank it all,’ Longoss managed through gritted teeth, his eyes on the flask Sears was holding to his lips.

  ‘And it replenishes, Longoss, ye’ve seen that already.’ Sears flashed a worried look Coppin’s way.

  ‘Oh aye,’ Longoss said, before allowing Sears to pour the bitter liquid down his throat.

  Coppin managed to lift Longoss’ shirt enough to see the open wound of his shoulder. ‘We need to get this bandaged.’

  Longoss coughed and his face screwed up at the taste of the tonic. Sears laughed.

  ‘Black Guild,’ Longoss said eventually.

  ‘Ye don’t say.’ Sears shook his head and looked at the various wounds about Longoss’ arms and torso. ‘Ye take a knock to the head on top of all this?’

  ‘Not that I recall, but me head’s fuzzy and everything sounds dull.’

  Coppin’s eyes suddenly widened as she pulled Longoss’ hand away from the side of his head and saw his left ear was missing; a bloody streak stained his head and neck. Knowing the shoulder wound was the worse of the two, she continued what she was doing and looked him in the eye whilst wrapping a strip of Longoss’ own torn shirt around his shoulder. ‘Ye killed them, the attackers?’

  Longoss shook his head. ‘Worse.’ He flashed gold again.

  ‘I don’t wanna know,’ Coppin said, looking back to her bandaging.

  Sears had moved to the small window and was looking out into the street through the blinds whilst putting his flask back into its pouch. ‘We need to move, don’t we?’

  Longoss nodded. ‘Aye, and fast.’ His eyes remained on Coppin as she suddenly looked at him again.

  ‘Ye can’t move anywhere.’ She prodded him on the bandaged shoulder, to which he winced and bit back a curse. ‘See?’

  ‘It’s his shoulder, Coppin, not his legs,’ Sears said, still looking outside. ‘He’ll start healing soon and can still walk. His shoulder—’

&
nbsp; ‘He’s exhausted, Sears,’ Coppin cut in, but Sears continued as if he hadn’t heard her.

  ‘His shoulder will be the least of his, or our worries should the Black Guild find us here.’

  ‘They know we’re here, they’ll be converging on us as we speak,’ Longoss said, smiling at Coppin and removing her hands from the bandage she’d finished tying. He used her to climb to his feet, much to the woman’s annoyance.

  ‘Where will we go?’ she asked quietly. Her mouth opened and her nose wrinkled slightly in confusion as Longoss pointed to the floor.

  Sears looked across and knew what Longoss intended straight away. He sighed heavily before speaking. ‘He means the sewers.’

  Coppin’s nose wrinkled even more.

  ‘We need to get out of Dockside, Longoss, I’m telling ye, get to a barracks and we’ll be safe.’

  Longoss was shaking his head before Sears finished. ‘They won’t let us out of Dockside for that very reason, Sears. We need to hold up somewhere, just for now.’ He held his good hand up to stop Sears from talking whilst he explained. ‘They know I know about this mark that ye wanna know about and they’ll assume ye both know about it now too—’

  ‘Ye said ye didn’t know about it?’ Sears said, nostrils flaring. Coppin’s confusion returned as she tried to get her head around what Longoss had just said.

  ‘I don’t, big man,’ Longoss said, sighing hard. ‘I know of it, not about it, I told ye that, but I can find out, it’ll just take time.’

  Knuckles white on the hilt of his short-sword, Sears gritted his teeth but nodded, knowing somehow the former assassin was telling the truth.

  Longoss looked to Coppin and rolled his arm slowly, his right eye twitching at the pain in his shoulder. ‘I brought ye clothes and food, although the clothes are men’s and bloodied from me carrying ’em. Sorry.’

  Coppin looked to the bundles on the floor and then to her brown robes. ‘Anything’s better than these, thank you.’

  Longoss nodded and looked to Sears. ‘There’s a passageway beneath this room, under the hearth rug, it’s narrow, but I’ve squeezed down it before. We can get to the sewers without leaving the building.’

  ‘Great.’ Sears rubbed his face with his free hand. ‘Wait,’ he said suddenly, ‘I didn’t think there were sewers in this area?’

  Longoss had moved to the rug and rolled it up with his good hand. ‘There aren’t for these houses, but there’s main sewer pipes running through Dockside to the harbour, and this tunnel will lead us to them.’

  Sears took one last look out the window and then crossed to where Longoss was struggling to move a wooden trapdoor. ‘Here,’ he said, placing his sword on the floor and lifting the door clear. ‘Gods below… that is small.’ And blind me does it stink.

  ‘Aye and it stinks too,’ Longoss said, grinning at Sears, ‘but nowhere near as bad as when we’re down there.’ He looked back then to tell Coppin to hurry, but the words stuck in his throat as he saw the woman’s robes fall to the floor, revealing a back full of recently healed scars. He tried, but failed to avert his eyes as she quickly pulled on the braes and hose he’d brought her, tying the latter to the thin belt he’d found. She turned to scoop up the shirt and caught his eye. She smiled sincerely and nodded her thanks for the clothes.

  Longoss’ cheeks flushed. He looked back to the hole next to him as the woman pulled the bloodied shirt over her green hair, picked up the bundle of food by her feet and moved to join them.

  ‘Well, down I go.’ Sears lowered himself down and once his feet touched the damp ground beneath the house, he lifted one arm high, kept one low and shuffled himself through the gap, his maille hauberk rustling and bunching on the edges as he huffed and cursed his way down.

  ‘Won’t they realise we’ve gone down there?’ Coppin said, as Longoss motioned for her to go next.

  ‘Aye lass, but there’s countless places this leads to and it’s a damn sight better than staying here and waiting for them. They could bust through that door at any moment.’

  Eyes wide, Coppin turned and took one last look at the door, before nimbly dropping down and through the hole.

  This is gonna hurt. Longoss swung his legs around and into the hole, lifting his good arm as Sears had. He pulled his other arm in tight and rocked from side to side as he worked his way down. He could feel Coppin’s hands on his legs as she tried to help. Grimacing against the pain of his shoulder, not to mention that of his missing ear, sliced ribs and various other cuts and bruises that rubbed on the sides of the hole, Longoss finally managed to squeeze through and into the dark space below the house, where the only light came from the open hatch above.

  ‘How will we see?’ Sears said, his faint outline just visible on the far side of Coppin’s.

  ‘We don’t, not until the sewers, where I have a torch hidden.’

  ‘Lead on then.’ Sears brushed at his face as he moved from Longoss’ path. ‘Damned cobwebs.’

  ‘Cobwebs?’ Coppin strained to see Sears’ face as she passed him. She followed Longoss on her hands and knees, the bundle of food tied around her.

  ‘It ain’t spiders ye need worry about, lass,’ Longoss said from the darkness ahead, ‘it’s the big bastard rats ye get down here.’

  ‘Great,’ Coppin said. ‘I’ve gone through all of this to be eaten by rats.’

  Sears laughed from behind and Longoss followed suit. Before long, all three were laughing.

  Despite the laughter, Sears’ thoughts drifted to Biviano. He hoped his friend was faring better than they were as he cursed again, another web clinging to his face. How is it that it always happens to me, even when people, two in this case, are in front of me? Bloody spiders!

  ***

  With the spire of the Samorlian Cathedral visible in the distance, the few people that dared the streets moved aside, watching with a mix of awe and concern as the armed and armoured men approached.

  Bollingham cursed as the skittish chestnut gelding beneath him tossed its head several times. All around him, the sound of metal shod hooves echoed off the surrounding buildings as two dozen mounted guardsmen followed Lord Stowold. Alongside the constable rode Biviano, who was looking across to the green trapper of the destrier his commander rode, wondering about the Earl’s coat-of-arms.

  ‘Is that a snake, or an eel, milord?’ Biviano asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yer coat of arms?’ Biviano pointed to the imaged displayed on both trapper and shield.

  ‘Ah,’ Stowold said, one eyebrow rising, ‘interests you does it, heraldry?’

  Biviano shrugged. ‘No, not really, I just wondered if yours is a snake, or an eel?’

  ‘Which do you think it is?’

  Biviano sighed and scratched just under his left eye. Why can’t people just answer questions, instead of answering with one of their own? ‘I’m not sure, milord, hence the question.’ Glancing up at the constable and seeing his stern face, Biviano decided it prudent to guess. ‘But if pushed, I’d say snake,’ he said, thinking it the better of the two.

  Stowold frowned slightly and shook his head.

  ‘Eel?’ Biviano did his best to hide his amusement.

  ‘Wrong again,’ Stowold said, as he threw a wink Biviano’s way.

  Wish he wouldn’t keep doing that.

  ‘It is in fact a sea serpent.’

  Eyes wide, Biviano looked back at the destrier’s trapper, which offered the best view of the Earl’s heraldry. Tilting his head slightly and frowning, he tried to work out what it was the sea serpent was coiled around. His eyes suddenly widened again. ‘Ah… it’s a drum tower.’

  ‘Ha, good man,’ Stowold said. ‘A serpent coiled around a drum tower upon a green field, it is indeed.’

  ‘What for?’ Biviano asked, cringing inside as the constable pursed his lips and locked his eyes on Biviano’s before answering.

  ‘Many years ago,’ Stowold said eventually, ‘an ancestor of mine successfully besieged a sea fortress. The forces he command
ed surrounded it and cut off all supply and aid. Eventually, the garrison commander surrendered, knowing they were beat.’

  ‘Impressive,’ Biviano said, before his eyes were pulled forward to a man walking out in front of them.

  ‘What’s your business?’ the man asked, the cathedral rising high behind him.

  ‘We ride to the Samorlian Cathedral, good sir,’ Stowold said. Biviano was pleasantly surprised the constable offered a reply at all, rather than forcing the man from their path. Bagnall Stowold went up in Biviano’s estimation considerably at that moment.

  ‘Good!’ the man shouted. He wore a cloak tightly about him, but his hooded mantle hung back, revealing gaunt features and pale skin. ‘It’s what they deserve. Luck be with you all!’

  Stowold nodded and waved his appreciation as they approached the man, but something in the stranger’s posture didn’t sit right with Biviano once they drew near. Before he could call out a warning, the cloaked figure produced a small crossbow and aimed it at the constable. The bow twanged and the bolt left the groove with tremendous speed, heading for Stowold’s chest. Realising the threat at the last moment, but without time to bring about his shield, Stowold twisted in his saddle and the bolt struck his right pouldron, glancing off the smooth steel and skittering across a wall on the far side of the street.

  ‘On guard,’ Biviano shouted, drawing his short-sword and pointing it to the man in front. He kicked the flanks of his horse with his heals and the horse surged forward. Biviano leaned into the charge, deftly using the reigns to aim the animal at the attacker.

  More bolts flicked across the street then, as the men everyone had taken to be random passers-by suddenly drew crossbows. Even those without the ranged weapons charged the riders with other weapons drawn.