Black Cross

by J. P. Ashman

  ‘Am I not a member of the council, Serra? Is it not my decision also?’ he replied through clenched teeth.

  A gust of wind blew Serra’s blue-black hair across her face and she sighed as she brushed it away with her delicate fingers. ‘You gave up your say on this matter when you stormed from the hall like a child.’

  Arrlo hammered his armoured fist down onto the wooden rail of the balcony, before hanging his head low. His sister winced at the aggressive action and silently apologised to the great tree, whose branches had grown in such a way as to create the living balcony they stood on.

  The elf lord let out a slow, controlled breath. ‘I fear for our realm, our people… Brisance in general at the hands of these humans. Is that such a bad thing?’ He looked back towards his sister, who returned his look with soft eyes and a gentle smile.

  Arrlo continued, holding his hands out to the side imploringly. ‘They are a young, rash race that thinks nothing of the living world that exists all around them, sister. They kill and burn and destroy with such blatant disregard for anything that is not of value to them. I see them as nothing more than a cross between dwarves and goblins.’

  Serra gasped at the statement and rushed over to her brother, placing her pale hands on his ornate pouldrons.

  ‘Surely you cannot believe such a thing of them, Arrlo? Perhaps they bear similarities to the dwarves regarding their lust for power and wealth, but the goblins? She shook her head. ‘No, I will not believe you truly think that.’

  Arrlo sighed again and looked deep into his sister’s eyes, smiling briefly before turning to rest on the rail he had struck. ‘I don’t know what I believe of them. They scare me, I know that much.’

  Pulling her head back slightly in surprise, Serra said, ‘I never could have dreamed you would fear anything or anyone?’

  ‘Nor could I. I do not fear the dwarves; they do not threaten us and even if they did they are predictable, as are goblins, trolls… even demons like the succubae Lord Nelem encountered… in his own forest! I dread what might be lurking in our forest at such a time. But these humans, they are unpredictable, unreadable. I do see good in some of them, Serra, I truly do, but it is the rest I fear. They grow and change, adapt and seek out more land, more ways in which to grow and expand… much like this plague of theirs.’

  ‘Oh, Arrlo… don’t say such things. That’s worse than your comparing them to goblins.’ My dear brother, how you’ve changed… you were once full of such innocence and wonder.

  Arrlo ran both of his hands through his long, black hair which was now hanging loose, his eyes tight shut as he clenched his jaw repeatedly before replying. ‘Why does it seem I am the only one that can foresee the dark places their expansion and ambitions, greed and warmongering could lead us? Even these so called goodly humans in our midst have meddled in the arcane.’

  Serra frowned at her brother’s frustration and again placed her hands on his pouldrons.

  ‘Even our greatest seers cannot foresee the future with any great accuracy, Arrlo, so I don’t see why you choose to try to do so. We have no idea what the future holds, for any of us, so I see no reason to worry about it. We have a chance, here and now, to help the humans rid their city of a plague that, if what our mages believe is true, has been thrust upon them on purpose, and not by the wizard Severun. If you want to worry about any possible future, worry about that, for whoever would wish such a horror upon a people can only have the darkest of hearts, and such a being is a natural enemy of ours. That alone should be reason enough for us to help the humans in their struggle, even if that struggle goes beyond this plague.’ She moved her left hand to her brother’s chin and pulled it gently round to face her. ‘This action on our part, right now, could secure our alliance with them far beyond its current state, thus warding off any such future you fear from our neighbours.’

  Arrlo nodded his head half-heartedly and his sister moved her hand back to his shoulder.

  ‘Let us hope this alliance can be strengthened then,’ Arrlo said finally, ‘on their part, because in my mind, they have done nothing but break it up to now.’ Arrlo Salkeld looked back out over the forest again before continuing.

  ‘Whatever evil they are seemingly facing with regards to this plague, it has no place in the future I have in my head. That future is one in which the humans themselves, their new found dwarven black powder in full use, will become that very black-hearted evil you mention.’ He turned to Serra then, his unblinking stare confirming the conviction of his following words.

  ‘And I swear to you now, sister, should the humans so much as glance our way with those weapons in hand, then I shall bring at the very least the full might of the Evergreen Glades upon them, ideally of Middle Wood too. And I would treat them no differently than any of the evil creatures I have slain in my life.’

  ‘Arrlo…’ Serra closed her beautiful eyes and hung her head low. She pulled her brother in close as the two of them fell quiet, listening to the peaceful sound of the forest.

  The trouble is, brother, I have had the very same fears. I just cannot allow myself to believe they could come to pass. ‘King Barrison is a good man, I am sure of that,’ she said soothingly.

  ‘Yes, that may be so, but is his heir, the Black Prince? Or his heir, or the next?’ Arrlo Salkeld let the question hang in silence, unsure whether to be pleased or not with his reasoning when his sister failed to answer back.

  ***

  Hours had passed since Sears, Gitsham and Buddle had left Longoss and Coppin. Most of that time had been spent hiding here and there, knowing that to outrun the gangers pursuing them was impossible. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Buddle’s nose, sniffing out ambushes ahead and finding safe – albeit for short periods – hiding positions within Dockside, then they would already have been caught and killed, Sears was sure of that. He knew he didn’t have the strength or energy left to fight such numbers, nor did he have Longoss or Coppin with him.

  I’ve killed enough as it is, Sears thought heavily, whilst the three of them huddled behind a small outhouse overflowing with excrement. The lay house it served rose up beside them, its window shutters closed and its door marked with a black cross. I see their faces now, some of them not far into their teens and I struck ’em down…

  Buddle growled and Sears turned to look at the bloodhound, its drooping ears lifting slightly.

  Ye’ve saved us time and time again now, dog. I owe ye me life tenfold.

  Gitsham’s head tilted and then he leaned over and whispered into Sears’ ear. The big man’s eyes widened.

  ‘How many?’ Sears whispered the rhetorical question whilst looking from the hound to Gitsham and back. ‘He can know that, specifically?’

  Gitsham shrugged and climbed to his feet. Sears followed.

  ‘We’re close to the edge of Dockside though, that’s what ye said when we stopped here, right?’

  Gitsham nodded, before starting to bite the filthy nails on his left hand.

  Screwing up his face and prodding his broken left wrist, the sling long since lost, Sears dared a look around the side of the outhouse. He pulled his head back quickly as he saw several youths milling about on a corner, weapons in hands.

  ‘They’re really close,’ Sears whispered, his mind drifting for a moment to the vial in his pouch. Alas, he knew the contents of the vial would knit the broken bones of his wrist swiftly whether set right or wrong, and he had no idea how it was at the moment. Coppin had helped him with it as much as she could, but the following cat and mouse game they’d been playing with the gangers had taken its toll, and the joint felt worse than ever. Whilst gently running his fingers over the swelling, he looked back to Gitsham, awaiting the next plan of action.

  Nothing…

  Gitsham dropped slightly as Sears toed the back of the man’s knee, which resulted in him turning to face Sears, who raised his eyebrows in anticipation.

  ‘We blow the horn now and then run to the right.’

  ‘Ye’re bloody kidding
me here, Gitsham?’ Sears stood straight and looked up to the sky, shaking his head before looking back at the man. ‘Again and again ye say the horn will do no good, and now, with ’em as close as they’ve ever been, ye want me to blow it?’

  Gitsham shrugged. ‘Aye.’

  ‘And then… run, just run?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘By the ragged baps of the witch god of I don’t know what or where nor do I give a shit anymore—’

  The horn rang out long and loud and then again twice more as Sears blew hard, his eyes tight shut.

  What had been fairly deserted streets, what with the black crossed doors and the gangers on the prowl keeping everyone else indoors, suddenly grew noisy with the calls of gangers.

  Sears opened his eyes and saw both man and dog had gone.

  ‘Shit!’ He ran out from behind the outhouse and turned right, glancing only quickly to the left, enough to see the swiftly approaching – and now increased – mob of youths and men running his way.

  More ganger calls and taunts followed Sears as he ran after Gitsham and Buddle, who weren’t far ahead of him. His lungs burnt as he sucked in as much air as he could. Several aches and pains resurfaced and his wrist throbbed painfully with every pounding step he took.

  The noise grew louder as the trio passed an unusually tall house for Dockside. Sears looked through the windows incredulously as he realised the residents were having what looked like a party… no, a blatant orgy.

  ‘They think… it’ll keep away… the plague,’ Gitsham shouted from in front, his breathing as ragged as Sears’ own, ‘by pleasing… the Loving God.’

  Sears shook his head as he ran. Any excuse. I didn’t even know there was a Loving God? Sears suddenly realised what the large house meant, however, and the realisation put a smile onto his red bearded face. Houses that big only lie on the edge of Dockside—

  A crossbow bolt skidded across the cobbles by his feet.

  ‘Not far now Gitsham, keep running,’ Sears shouted. As long as I don’t take one of those bastards in the back of the head.

  We need to pass what we know to Stowold, Sears thought suddenly, as stones landed here and there about him, and if that means Gitsham is the only one to make it, I’ll damned well make sure that’s the case—

  The big man grunted as a stone thudded off his left shoulder. Although it wasn’t large, it hit hard enough to cause Sears to stumble slightly as he instinctively twisted away from the impact. Cursing, he righted himself quickly and risked a glance behind.

  ‘Shit! Gitsham, they’re close!’ Sears finally drew his short-sword with his good hand.

  ‘Blow… horn… again,’ Gitsham managed.

  Buddle barked from up front.

  Gods’ sake! Sears re-sheathed his sword – which wasn’t easy whilst running – and pulled free the horn, biting the end to stop it clattering across his teeth. He took in as big a breath as he could manage, the cold air burning his lungs. I hope Longoss and Coppin fare better.

  The horn sounded pathetically and Sears winced as another stone struck him on the back. The sound of footsteps followed him now, extremely close, and as he took in another burning breath to blow again, Buddle howled long and hard. Sears lowered the horn and looked around Gitsham, who was slowing to a jog in front of him.

  What’s the fool doing slowing… oh!

  Sears hadn’t thought he’d ever hear himself laugh again when he’d heard the footsteps close behind him just then, but as he saw a familiar face round a corner up ahead, flanked by half a dozen city guardsmen, he burst out a torrent of uncontrollable laughter; that, along with the line of men now stretching the narrow street, caused the footsteps behind him to falter. Not wanting to risk complacency now, Sears threw all he had into one last sprint towards the line ahead, where Buddle lay flat out and Gitsham stood double, hands on knees and reddened face gasping for air as a white robed cleric held a hand over him, searching for serious injury.

  The ganger calls behind Sears increased despite the men now approaching; weapons drawn, heater shields held high and two crossbows being aimed. Those crossbows clicked and launched bolts either side of Sears as he finally slowed and barrelled into the face he’d been locked onto since he lowered the horn.

  ‘Biviano,’ he half said half laughed between gasps. His mouth was so dry his saliva felt like a thick paste in his mouth, but none of it mattered now. He’d made it.

  Angry shouts erupted as the crossbow bolts found their marks.

  ‘Reload,’ Bollingham shouted, whilst moving past Sears to hold a line just behind the big man. ‘Here they come!’

  ‘The horn worked?’ Sears asked, incredulously, his breathing slowing but a little.

  The cleric, Effrin, laughed. ‘No, Sears, the dog! Damn well nearly made me sick when he contacted me and told me where to head to.’

  Eyes wide at the revelation, Sears looked back to Biviano. ‘We need to move, matey.’ He held his friend out at arms length. Damn, he looks rough, sick even.

  ‘Yeah yeah, I look like shit. Yer eyes say it all, ye ginger get. Now face up, soldier, ye’re not running no more.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You angry, big guy?’

  A crossbow thudded into Bollingham’s shield and the man cursed, before shouting, ‘shoot at will for ’morl’s sake.’ The two crossbowmen pulled their triggers and two more gangers dropped, including the one who’d shot at Bollingham. ‘They’re closing, form up!’

  ‘Ye need get Gitsham outta here, he has important news for Stowold,’ Sears said, shaking Biviano slightly. ‘And get yerself out too, we’ll never hold these. There’ll be more on the way.’

  ‘There’s more here.’ Biviano looked past Sears, who turned and looked down the street.

  Sears cursed. So that’s why the little bastard gangers hung back at the end.

  Over three score gangers emerged from doorways, alleys and further back down the street as Sears looked on, the closest ones – the original chasers – whooping and hollering as they darted forward here and there, throwing all sorts of missiles at the small shield wall of the patrol stood in front of Sears.

  ‘Like I said, are ye mad, Sears?’ Biviano looked to his friend and grinned.

  Sears nodded. ‘Aye.’ He fought back a tear, overwhelmed that after all he’d been through, no matter what happened now, he’d made it back to Biviano.

  The wiry guardsman shook his head. ‘Not angry enough, ye ain’t hit me yet.’

  Laughing despite the situation, Sears punched Biviano on the shoulder with his good hand, but the man just laughed.

  ‘What in Samorl’s crusty arse was that? Ye fat sack of shi—’

  Biviano nearly went over sideways as Sears threw his back into his good fist and smashed it into Biviano’s maille covered shoulder.

  ‘Bastard!’ Biviano’s face screwed up with pain as he attempted to roll his deadened arm. ‘That’s it, big guy, I need ye really pissed off for this lot.’ He pointed his sword past Bollingham. Sears turned just in time to see a throwing axe spin through the air and glance off the farthest shield bearing guardsman to his left. The man ducked under his wooden shield, but not before the blade of the axe cracked off his kettle-helm. Luckily, he survived the impact and re-raised his shield and sword, shaking his head angrily.

  Sears roared and his eyes flared.

  ‘These bastards murder and rape for fun, Sears, and this is our chance to pay the shites back, what say you?’

  Sears roared again.

  ‘What say all of you?’ Biviano shouted.

  As the shield wall roared, the gangers charged.

  Despite the sound of dozens of booted feet, screams of rage and the single howl of a bloodhound, the sound of clattering hooves suddenly filled the street… many hooves.

  Sears’ burning eyes took in the hate filled faces of the large number of gangers closing rapidly on them. He also noticed the sudden shock in many of their faces as they met the shield wall and a horn rang out, along with a familiar upp
er district accent.

  ‘Make way, make way, make way!’

  Weapons clashed and voices cried out in pain as Sears grabbed Biviano and yanked him roughly to the side of the street. They took cover where Effrin, Gitsham and Buddle were, as the two crossbowmen loosed their final bolts and dove, along with Bollingham and the other shield bearers, out of the way of the heavy cavalry pounding down the street.

  The charge was led by a rider in green livery and blued plate, the latter decorated in ornately carved battle scenes. Closing swiftly on the gangers, the heavy trapper of the large destrier under that rider took a crossbow bolt through the serpent’s eye of the displayed heraldry. The bolt scored but failed to pierce the warhorse’s flank as it charged on, and from behind the maille aventail of the open face bascinet worn by the horse’s rider, spewed the most horrendous curse imaginable.

  Bagnall Stowold and his personal retainers, three of them knights, smashed into the panicked mob of gangers with literally bone crunching force.

  Men fell beneath hooves whilst others fell from the blow of the Earl’s war-hammer. Others were skewered on lances carried by the outer edge riders whilst more where hacked down by sword and axe. Over two dozen heavy horse continued on down the street, hacking and slashing as they went, Stowold’s curses mixed with the screams and shouts of dying men and boys alike.

  A knight wielding an axe was pulled from his horse as he slowed and drew close to an alley, a flurry of blows and a bollock dagger through his great-helm’s visor finishing him. His bay destrier turned and lashed out at the attackers, its hooves crushing more than one skull before it bolted, chasing after the continuing charge.

  Most of the gangers fled, running down tight alleys or deftly climbing up onto rooftops to escape across the broken tiles and thatch of the buildings about them.

  One, however, a large man carrying a pole-axe, turned on a mounted man-at-arms to Stowold’s right, and swung the weapon in the manner it was designed for, to unhorse riders.

  The intended target managed to duck away from the weapon’s hooked blade in time, although it sliced a bloody line through his upper arm, which was protected by his padded gambeson, but not armoured. Cursing, the Earl’s man swiftly drove his horse on to chase down easier prey.