CRY HAVOC (Jack Frey Book 1)

by Mike Morris

  "What do you mean? I didn't do anything. I just came home."

  Jahn rubbed his stubble while he chewed his lip. "Shit. We don't need you bringing the Masters or their whelps down here." He turned his back on Lin.

  Everyone was watching. They could tell something was wrong. Pet'r pushed through the crowd and ran to her. Jaar followed behind him.

  "What's going on? You okay?" asked Pet'r.

  Lin ignored him as she watched Jahn walk over to the Scrounger. She felt sick. None of this was what she expected. They talked for a few minutes then Jahn brought the weasely man over to her.

  "Fuck off, " Jahn told Pet'r.

  Pet'r looked questioningly at Lin and she nodded her head.

  "I know you and the Scrounger ain't the best of friends but he's all you got right now," said Jahn. "He'll sort the guards out and hopefully everything will be brushed over. Up to you to sort out payment. But, I'll tell you this for free. Don't do it and I'll shop you in myself. Don't care that I think you of you as my daughter. I'm not letting you doom the rest o' us."

  The Scrounger leered over Jahn's shoulder. "Don't worry, sweetie. I'll look after ya."

  Jahn tried a smile. "I'm sorry love but it's all about survival. You do what you gotta do. No one's gonna think the worse o' you fer it."

  "Right little mess you got yourself into," said the Scrounger once Jahn had gone.

  Lin reached into her pocket and pulled out her knife. She offered it to him.

  The Scrounger just laughed. "You can keep that. Obviously try not to use it when you visit me later. You're going to be spending time with me for the next while." He winked at her. "Fer your safety of course. Now, I'd best be off. Got some work to do."

  Lin sat back down at the table. She wanted to cry. She wished the Masters had killed her. At least her suffering would be over. Pet'r and Jaar joined her, obviously worried. Pet’r slipped his arm around her and pulled her in close as if that could protect her.

  "Who were the men?" asked Jaar when she'd finished telling them everything.

  "No idea. The Masters knew them, though, and didn't like them. It was almost as if they were afraid of them," replied Lin.

  "And they’d killed two Masters?" said Pet'r.

  "So the Master said," answered Lin.

  "Didn't think a thing was possible," said Pet'r.

  "The Masters don't want anyone to know. That's why they killed everyone." Lin shuddered at the memory.

  "You were lucky to get away," said Jaar.

  Lin spotted the Scrounger returning to the mess. He gave her the thumbs up. Everything was going to be all right. She closed her eyes, knowing that it wasn't true. It would never be all right again.

  She just had to survive, she told herself. Just survive.

  20

  712 PN

  Jack sat patiently outside the Abbot's study. The uniform that he spent ten years earning felt stiff and uncomfortable on him. The silver circle that hung around his neck feltlike a great weight. Ten years of study and hard work had brought him to this point. Ten years of learning about God, the sword and the pistol. Now he was a warrior priest of the Order of The First Knight waiting to be told his first mission. It had been a long journey but he was proud to be a Black Dog.

  Jack adjusted the black leather collar around his neck. Would he ever get used to wearing it? His neck felt raw underneath. He smiled, remembering the little boy from Brixteth feeling lost in his first uniform and new boots. It seemed like someone else's life now.

  A clock chimed the hour, echoed by the monastery's bell tower seconds later.

  Jack had never been to the Abbot's personal floor in the main tower. On the left side, windows ran from one end to the other, overlooking the ocean. Some said that on a clear day the Middle Kingdoms could be seen in the distance, but at present there was only a grey merging of sky and sea. The view was spectacular but it was the tapestry that hung on the right wall that held Jack's attention. It ran some twenty feet in width and from floor to ceiling.

  It depicted the battle of Stephen the First Knight against Orsmond, the leader of the Nostros, and his dragon three hundred years ago.

  The detail was astounding. On one side, the small figure of Stephen shone in his silver armor, atop his white horse, a bright circle of light above his head. His sword pointed to the heavens. The dead bodies of his army lay around him, amongst broken spears, shields and armor. Orsmond faced him, white skinned, encased in ebony atop a dragon with its wings spread and claws outstretched, screaming at the heavens. Abios's fate hung in the balance at that very moment. Freedom or slavery. Life or death.

  Jack could almost hear the sounds of battle, the cries of the dying, the heat of the flames. His heart beat faster as he looked at it, scanning the intricate details.

  The large oak double doors to the Abbot's office opened, snapping Jack back into the present. A priest stood there. "There's no time to admire art, boy," he snapped. "Come in."

  Jack stood quickly, smoothed the front of his black tunic and adjusted the curved sword that hung on his left hip. The blade was another sign of his ascension from novice to priest and he wasn't used to that either. The blade had been forged by Jack's own hand as part of his studies to join the Order. Six months hammering and folding metal in the armory late into the night. Some said the sword of a Black Dog contained the soul of the priest and Jack believed it. Blood, sweat and tears went into crafting it.

  His boots tapped against the stone floor. The few yards took an age under the watchful gaze of the waiting priest. He felt like a boy on his way to be reprimanded by his teacher rather than a man about to go to war. At least he'd never have to worry about Master Hicks' stones again.

  The Abbot's office was even more impressive. The windows continued along the left wall. Books filled the right. At the far end, a large map of Abios and The Middle Kingdoms hung behind the Abbot's simple desk. In the center of the room was a circle of chairs around another large table. Four of them were filled. Jack's eyes quickly glanced across the various faces, shocked.

  The Abbot sat facing the windows in the center to the right. He raised a bushy white eyebrow in greeting to Jack but the warmth that came from the man was undeniable. A brown-haired bulldog lay at his feet, chewing on a small bone.

  The Abbot indicated the only empty chair. "Please sit, Brother Jack."

  "Thank you Sir," replied Jack with a bow of his head before taking his place.

  "You know, of course, your brother Brendan. Your flesh and blood brother that is," said the Abbot gesturing to the man sitting to Jack's right. Brendan's hair had grown much longer since they last saw each other, the shaved head of a student long gone, and he was bigger, much bigger in height and in build. His brother had become a true warrior since they’d last seen each other. He knew Brendan had taken his vows a year earlier but Jack hadn't heard any other news of his brother since they'd been separated. In that time, there'd not been a day when he hadn’t thought of Brendan. Seeing his brother again, a lost part of him returned as well.

  "Hello little brother," said Brendan with a smile. It took all of Jack's restraint not to hug him. He couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face though.

  "I'm not sure if you know Brother Marcus," continued the Abbot.

  "Brother Marcus looked after Brendan and I when we first came to Whitehaven," replied Jack. "Good to see you, Marcus."

  "You too," said Marcus. The man had changed even more in the years since he’d greeted two scared boys dressed in rags into the monastery. Eight years of campaigning would do that. God only knew where he had gained the three ragged scars that ran across his face from right eye to left ear.

  "And this is Brother Jonathan," said the Abbot.

  "Pleased to meet you Jack," said Jonathan as he held out his hand to shake. Jack hadn't met Jonathan before. He looked in his late thirties, with steel in the man's eyes and iron in his grip. His hair was more grey than blonde, worn shoulder length.

  "Brother," said Jack, noddin
g his head once more.

  "Now we are all acquainted," said the Abbott, leaning back in his chair, "we can discuss why I have asked all of you to join me this morning.

  "One of the main defenses we have is the Angel Sea that separates Abios from the Middle Kingdoms. This ocean takes some thirty-odd hours to cross, with a good wind. Far too long for the Nostros to undertake as they cannot risk exposure to the sun. Their ships are crude at best — thankfully they’ve not mastered how to build multi-decked ships.

  "They have attempted to invade us by dragon of course. Our founder Stephen repelled the most famous attack in 478 and there have been more attempts since then. Luckily, even then, dragons were few in number and they were repelled successfully. We’ve not seen a dragon in my lifetime and, hopefully, we never will again.

  But we monitor the skies none the less and patrol the sea. Complacency will not be the death of us on my watch, I can assure you." The Abbot paused to drink some water.

  "One of our patrols recently returned from the North and reported something that has concerned me." The Abbot looked up as the priest who had opened the door for Jack reappeared with a small map in his hands. He quickly unrolled it and placed it in the center of the table.

  "Thank you, Brother Isaac. What would I do without you?" said the Abbot with a smile.

  Isaac bowed before turning and leaving the room.

  The map showed Abios and the North and Eastern coastlines of the Middle Kingdoms. On the map, the ocean dividing the eternal enemies did not seem that great to Jack. All the major cities of Abios were marked, including Arbour, the capital and Jack's birthplace.

  "This is Grosnar," said the Abbot, pointed to a spot across the Angel Sea on the northern coastline of the Middle Kingdoms. "It's a fairly large castle that sits on cliffs above a natural harbor. Home to some member of the Nostros royal family. Until now, it's been no more than that. But a sea patrol has reported that our esteemed enemy has built a wall across the mouth of the harbor. A wall of such considerable size that we cannot see what is going on behind it. And that, brothers, is what worries me.

  I want you to find out what they are up to."

  Jack's mouth went dry. His first mission was to the Middle Kingdoms.

  "You leave in three days. I want you to observe and report back to me what you find. A simple reconnaissance mission if there can be such a thing behind enemy lines," finished the Abbot.

  "Do we know how many demons are in the castle?" asked Marcus.

  The Abbot sighed. "A castle that size? Normally around eighty or ninety Nostros. Perhaps twice that many Turned humans. Plus a good size human army and the slave labor to keep the place running as well as providing food for the demons. But God only knows the real number."

  Jack’s head swam with the information. He remembered the dead Nostros in the crypt — the size of it, the monstrousness of it. And there were ninety of them where he was being sent? And Turned humans? He’d never seen one but he’d heard tales that had frightened him to his core. Suddenly everything felt very real. It wasn’t a game anymore. He’d been trained to fight and now the Abbot was sending him to war.

  "I've seen Grosnar," said Jonathan. "It's a bastard of a place, made of stone the color of blood. Just the sight of it is enough to chill your bones. Nothing good is going to come out of that place. How long do you want us in country for?"

  "Long enough to see what's behind that wall, not long enough to get caught. Four or five days. You know the place Jonathan; that's why I want you to lead this expedition," said the Abbot. "You've worked with Marcus and Brendan before and Jack here impressed everyone during his studies." The old man stood up, pushing himself upright with his hands. "Go with God, my brothers. Remember, we can't afford even one of those demon spawn to set foot on Abion soil. Whatever they are up to, whatever they are planning, find out so we can stop it before its too late."

  The Black Dogs stood up and bowed. Jack was going to the front line. He just had to survive.

  21

  712 PN

  The small boat bobbed through the high waves. Its black sail caught the high winds as it emerged from the night sky with the first streaks of dawn. Six men were on board. It was cramped but a larger vessel attracted too much attention. The shores of the Middle Kingdom could be just seen in the distance. There was an hour and a half's more sailing to go.

  Jack sat nearest the prow, his heavy black cloak protecting him from the cold wind. He checked the stitching once more on the oilskin bag. It contained all his equipment, spare clothing and supplies. His brother sat next to him, watching. Jonathan tended to his weapons while Marcus lay on the deck asleep. Jack wished he could do the same as well but he was too anxious. After so long living inside the monastery, it was strange being back in the world, sailing to enemy lands.

  The wind's cruel bite pushed the ship forwards. The two sailors ensured the sails caught the best of it. A beast of a man was at the tiller, his weather beaten face turned towards the rising sun, checking the winds and sky. His grey hair blew across his forehead. He'd introduced himself as Samuel.

  The other sailor was his cousin Walter, sinewy where Samuel was broad. His shoulders glistened with a mix of sweat and seawater as he secured a rope, locking the main sail. He was bare-chested despite the cold.

  "How are you feeling, little brother?" asked Brendan. "Nervous?"

  "No," lied Jack. And Brendan knew it.

  "I was scared witless the first time I went on a mission." His brother leaned back against the gunwale and looked out to sea. "Pretended I knew it all when really I didn't have a clue. Luckily Jonathan looked after me."

  "That I did," added the priest as he sharpened a stiletto blade on a whetstone. "Greener than grass was young Brendan. Still a puppy really."

  "I was the same when I joined too," said Marcus, his eyes closed. "But seeing your first Nostros knocks the innocence out of you."

  "What are they like? I’ve seen the corpse in the vault," said Jack. His voice quivered, betraying his nerves. He didn’t want to see one of those demons up close. No way.

  "Fast. Faster than anything you've seen before, especially for their size. You think something that big will be slow and cumbersome but you couldn't be further from the truth, even in their armor. I'm not ashamed to say I wet myself the first time I saw one up close," said Marcus. "All my training went out the window. Just one of those demons went through my squad before I even realized what was happening. To be honest, most don't survive a confrontation with a Nostros, no matter what anyone says."

  “What?” said Jack, looking from Marcus to Brendan to Jonathan. He prayed the fear didn’t show on his face.

  "Ah, don't scare the boy. He'll be pissing his pants himself before we even leave the boat," said Jonathan. "Listen Jack. I'll give you the advice I gave these two idiots when they joined me. Save your bullets for the demons and always aim at their heads. If that doesn't work..."

  "Yes?" Jack.

  "Run like the fucking wind."

  The others laughed. Even the sailors joined in. Everyone except Jack. He felt like throwing up.

  "Good advice that," said Samuel from the tiller.

  "You're good at that Jack," said Brendan. "My little brother always avoided the law when we were kids. No one could catch him."

  It was good to see the others laugh. At least they were confident. Jack couldn’t imagine he’d ever feel that way. Just looking at the others made him feel like an imposter in their company. A kid pretending to be a Black Dog when they were the real thing. He only hoped when the time came, he wouldn't let them down.

  "Seriously though," said Jonathan, "we're not going to get close enough to worry about the Nostros this time. We're only here to observe and we can do that from a safe distance. We watch our step, keep nice and quiet and we'll be back home before anyone knows we were there."

  "Sounds like a plan to me," said Brendan.

  "Aye," said Jack, not so certain.

  "We're here, lads," said Samuel. His
cousin untied the main sail and quickly lowered it. The boat slowed immediately.

  Jack looked towards shore. White rock jutted from the sea and climbed skyward. The sea churned in the swell caused by the many out-cropping rocks. A few gulls squawked overhead but there was no sign of life anywhere else. It was an inhospitable spot they'd chosen to slip ashore. A dangerous one. One wrong step and he’d end up drowned or pulverized against the rocks.

  Brendan and Jonathan rose to their feet but Jack waited a moment, taking a deep breath. He could do this. He stood up. Time to go.

  Jonathan kicked Marcus in the leg. "Get up," he said.

  "Ah. I was having a good dream then. The sun was shining, beautiful women, lots to eat and drink," said Marcus as he too staggered to his feet. "A far better place than here with you ugly brutes."

  "Plenty of time for that when you're dead," said Jonathan. "Get the canoes in the water."

  The men lowered the first of the dark stained canoes over the side. On each, securely fastened, were the oilskin bags containing all of the Black Dogs' supplies and equipment.

  "Here we go. May God be with us," said Jonathan. "Keep alert and we'll be okay."

  Jack climbed over the rail and down the rope to the canoe, taking his position at the front of the boat. Brendan climbed in behind him and they pushed away from the side.

  The two brothers dug their oars into the water and headed towards the shore. It took all their strength to make any headway in the rough sea. Jack glanced behind him and saw the others following as the fishing boat turned around to return to Abios.

  The current fought them all the way, helped by the wind. Jack's shoulders burned with the effort of keeping the canoe on target. He choked as a wave crashed across the canoe into his face.

  He shook his head to clear the water from his face and focused his attention on a spot on the cliffs and headed towards it. For every stroke he made, he seemed to be pushed back by two but gradually, the gap shortened until the cliffs loomed above him.