“What about Jessica? Can she stay down there with me?” Jacob asked. He didn’t want her to be out of sight.
Father Lemoine nodded his head. “That would probably be best.”
Jessica saw they were finished and Father Lemoine was leaving. “Is he okay?” Jessica asked softly as he passed by. He turned to acknowledge her and again nodded his head.
“He is doing the only thing he knows to do, and in the end he will be okay.”
Father Lemoine left, and they closed and bolted the door securely. The twins went down into the lower room of the tower and secured the door behind them in preparation for a siege. They sat in the small room, waiting on the edge of something they could barely understand, much less stop. But Jacob also knew he was a part of this—the monks had given him a task as big as any.
He looked to the wall of his interest, and there before him four wooden arms protruded, silent sentries. Would they work if needed, and would their Great Wall of China, their meager defense, do the trick to deter their enemies? He looked to his sister and smiled a mischievous smile she knew too well. He clearly was up to something she was not a party to, and she was bound to figure it out; there was no way he was going to leave her out of the adventure.
Jacob understood the look from his sister and wanted to tell her, just not before having a little fun with her like he used to when things weren’t so serious. She hit him on the shoulder, showing she was no longer amused he was holding out on her. He rolled his eyes and began to explain what he had been charged with, unnecessarily trying to impress her.
In other areas of the castle small groups waited not far from each other, finishing anything they had grabbed to eat. The monastery was lit up like a Christmas tree; every room was illuminated, along with every entrance and the tower’s top. This is where one small group stood, on top of the Lonely Tower itself—Sebastian, Father Donovan, Father Lemoine and two others. They waited, watching and listening for whatever may come.
Sometimes silence speaks louder than noise, and this had never been truer for any of the friends gathered on this tower on this night. Waiting may be the torture that is most remembered in life—waiting for Christmas day, waiting for that shot from the doctor, or waiting for that day when you make all your own decisions. Silence and waiting are tools in warfare that can be used to great effect.
Their torture was short-lived, however; while looking over the western wall, Sebastian watched the woods with their flickering fires and noticed the area grow darker. The expanse of darkness grew so much that fires must have gone out in succession every few seconds. Soon an entire stretch of woods looked like a dark river that flowed between two banks. But this too would soon pass. This river of darkness would not be contained, and it soon overran its boundaries and began to flood the area to its right.
The three watched as the fires slowly dimmed one at a time making its way clockwise around the entire perimeter of the castle like a second hand to a twisted clock of doom counting down time. No more waiting. The two guards set at the sides of the three fidgeted at the edge of the walls, reflecting their unease. The only reason they did not bolt was the steadiness of the three who held their gaze and their ground with calm efficiency. Father Lemoine’s face told all to his supplicants and they held their faith even in the coming gloom.
One, two, three, and they were gone. The fires of their makeshift outer perimeter, ones which gave the castle a larger and more impressive feel, were gone. How small they now appeared with only the small braziers lit, causing them to stand out like a star in the night’s sky. The sounds of feet shuffling around them added to the sense of the unknown as the guards looked here and there trying vainly to pick up any movement out of the darkness below the tower.
Sebastian alone was more aware than any here could attempt to be, with eyes and ears more adaptive to the night. Walking the edges of the tower, he calmly scanned the edges of the woods, expecting an attack of blistering proportions there would be no defense against.
Then he sensed something even his keen eyes and ears could not detect, almost a calling to his nature like a vibration of the soul. He walked over to the northern wall and motioned for his guard to join him. With a wave of his hand the two flanking monks lit their crossbow bolts, took quick aim and let their arrows fly. Slicing through the night, the fiery bolts shot toward the ground and both found their mark with small thuds.
Slowly the two small fires found homes on the ground and began to spread. Soon the fires joined in the middle and spread out in opposite directions. They found a most welcome home--piles of tinder that had been laid down so carefully on the moat’s inner edge. Now more quickly the fire took on life and speed as it created a ring around the castle. With a renewed light growing around the monastery everyone felt some relief, from those on top of its parapets to all who huddled inside its corridors, peering out of limited windows.
The light gave away nothing because nothing was there. Father Lemoine looked to Father Donovan, and he in turn looked to Sebastian; Sebastian held their questioning stares for a moment, then just turned back to look at the northern woods. Never before had they questioned him about much, but uncertainty can breed doubt. But those questions would not go unanswered for long.
From the woods a figure slowly emerged and made its way into the open lawn. Everyone waited and watched with great anticipation at the daring of the lone figure. Vampires were arrogant and brash when it came to flaunting their confidence. This one was no exception, but they made no move to challenge him for showing himself. They waited because he was not alone.
Soon several more breached the woods’ protection and cover to stand with their brother; one appeared to be the same as the next, cloaked in dark robes blending with the night. They came out and stood just at the edge of the stone markers of the outer moat wall top and never paid any attention to those who kept a close watch on them from above. Their numbers grew and soon the counting was something that troubled the mind, so no one continued.
Father Lemoine was one of the few who kept counting with each appearance. He knew well the numbers game in battles, and he also knew everyone there on the ground counted for two to four of his men. Soon the math was stacking up against them; the odds grew smaller and smaller. How many of them were there? He could see the number had grown to almost equal their own, at just around twenty-five and that was the ones he could see, so how many more?
That answer is one no one truly wanted to know. Soon the number stopped and their next answer was the emergence of a horse and rider. Everyone knew who this was—Baldric, who once had sat upon his horse on this very lawn watching a battle for his home go completely awry. He rode out and took his place in the midst of his minions and slouched over, appearing relaxed and uninterested. His head soon turned upward and without trying found the eyes of Sebastian, disregarding the others on the wall. He stretched out his hand to the scene before him and laughed.
“This is what you put up against me?” Baldric laughed again. “I have survived fire that would consume Gehenna, and yet you hide behind this campfire. You disappoint me.”
“This fire is not there to keep you out; it is there to draw a boundary. I hold this place as my own, and I lay claim to it over all others, even you.” Sebastian knew he would soon be angering his maker.
“You cannot hold claim over me. I have laid claim here much longer than you have been alive, alive only due to my wishes,” Baldric stated.
“You may wish to keep this place and if you so desire you must take it back … and you alone. None of the others may dare to step over the hallowed ground and defile its sanctuary. They have not earned the right over those who gave all to call this their own.” Sebastian played against Baldric’s every desire for control, matching the game of words.
Baldric smiled and appreciated the game; he was being called out, but he would not relinquish his hand or his advantage for a posturing and obstinate young one.
“I do no one’s bidding but my own, and all
those before me do as I command them, something you will soon learn,” Baldric replied. How he knew Sebastian was much like himself and how he loved him for that. The problem with taming a wild and strong stallion is that you will be thrown and bruised many times in the process, but the prize is worthwhile.
The assembly of figures on the lawn had remained still and silent, and Sebastian was taken back to his dream like a smack in the face. Not now, he thought, but it was inevitable: he was there again in that field and confused. The scene before him was familiar—many darkly clad motionless figures surrounding a lone figure that alone seemed real. Was this what his dream was about—this night? What was its significance? Then once again the long silver blades rose up, and he struggled against the invisible hold over him. His torment increased, and once again down came the strike and the scream—this time that scream was not one of agony but of something very familiar. This time what came forth in startling clarity was his name.
“Sebastian!’
How he was startled! His brother had called out from his dream and the very grave to charge him into action. Sebastian blinked and came back from his faraway place and knew that here he was not held by an invisible force but was under his own power. For a split second, he scanned the area and realized he was the only one not in some kind of action. Father Lemoine and Father Donovan had moved to opposite sides of the Lonely Tower for some reason, and as he looked down he saw that the dark figures had advanced up to the fire’s perimeter. A few crossed. Most were almost there, and more were coming out of the woods while the lone rider sat upon his horse and laughed.
Sebastian couldn’t hear that laughter, but the impact on his being was tremendous. He had hesitated, and the battle would soon descend into chaos if he didn’t act. Then he remembered why he had been plunged into his nightmare—the blades. With no other movement he leapt into the air and over the wall, drawing his swords in mid-flight and plunging to his goal. His focus was on nothing but the small keg he landed in front of just ten feet from the wall of fire. With figures breaching the small wall of fire all around him he landed and kicked the keg into the flames.
The reaction was immediate; the small keg was filled with black powder, and the fire ignited an explosion that rocked the northern lawn, sending a ball of fire into the air. Sebastian himself was thrown backward and hit the very wall of the castle while everyone else within the large blast radius was likewise thrown from their feet. A few landed into the flames surrounding the monastery while others realized they had lost many of their body parts and were blown from the blast area. The battle that had begun in a rush of chaos stopped for only a second for everyone to take into account what had happened.
Two other people took note of the large explosion and following fireball. The two guards in the tower above Jacob and Jessica had heard the commotion start before the blast and knew their time was upon them; they waited only for the signal. That signal had taken longer than expected, and they wondered how wrong things had gone.
“North side! North side!” the guards yelled at the twins over and over, urging them to action.
The call came, and the twins looked at each other. With united purpose they grabbed the second large wooden arm and forced their weight upon the lever. The arm moved with much resistance even under the combined weight of the two, but they persisted. Jessica even left her feet to lie over the top of her brother, forcing the switch down until it gave completely, and they fell to the floor. They waited for any sign—only one quiet second passed and then it happened.
Outside, everyone on top of the tower was engaged, and the lawn of the castle was rapidly filling with many dark figures—too many, Sebastian knew. He stood up as fast as he could, waiting and hoping, then he felt the shudder. Everyone else felt it also and stopped in their tracks.
Father Donovan and Father Lemoine felt something below their feet and looked over the walls just in time. In front of the fire, down the stretch of the moat of the northern side, they saw the ground literally give way beneath the feet of the advancing army. Every foot of dirt and grass dropped, opening up like a great crevasse in the earth during a mighty earthquake.
For those within the confines of the stone borders of the old moat there was no time to react. They fell, following the path of the ground they once held undisputed and unchallenged. Others who were charging into the lawn and who had been unscathed by the explosion soon understood their timing and momentum played to their disadvantage as they realized they could not recover in time. They too found their quick trip down into the mixed mess of dirt and fellow combatants.
The journey down was short but seemed a mighty fall from the advantage they had once perceived they held. Their concerns were not fully understood; they could survive a fall from great distances. The moat in its day was over thirty feet deep, but this was not the problem. Many found something else before they ever reached the bottom of the moat—large upright spears, tipped with silver, standing in row after row, filling the entire breadth of the interior.
These were the very spears that had once turned the tide of battle on the grounds of the Lonely Tower and saved the few who remained. Thousands of them stood here as silent sentinels, guarding the castle and also marking the graves of those who carried them and fell in its defense. They continued to guard and protect from the distant past they had been called upon again to defend, their long quiet sleep interrupted.
The vampires rained down upon them and discovered no mercy as they impaled themselves on the fierce weapons that had lost none of their effectiveness over the centuries. The screams of terror were heard by everyone on both sides of the moat. The lucky ones who had averted their plunge into the pit or had not come that far looked down upon the slaughter in astonishment and disbelief. Their shock did not last long, as more emerged behind them, spurring them into action. The ones left made their way, leaping over the vast moat and traversing the fiery border to find new ground and a monastery ready for the taking.
The unwanted guests were not the only ones spurred into battle: the monks inside were biding their time, waiting for just that moment after the explosion had set into motion the dropping of the moat’s ground. They knew it would be unwise to be outside when this happened and would wait to defend their new barrier like defenders of a castle wall. The monks rushed out in their small groups with mad exuberance and met a barrage of combatants coming over the flames. Working in their groups, some shot their crossbows at their airborne adversaries, while others waited for the landing to rush them with their long spears, either impaling them as they landed or pushing them into the fire and pit behind them. Their tactics were sound and proved very effective; the devastation of the first wave was hard to fathom. In one swift stroke they had taken out a large portion of the known force.
Sebastian didn’t even realize the effectiveness of the surprise; he was too focused on everyone around him, and he didn’t hesitate to act. He was quickly set upon by a couple he had let land without incident. He wanted them to break his set boundary and give him a reason to set upon them like a wraith. He was a man of his word, after all.
They should have realized that a defender is five times as dangerous as an attacker, but they did not. Sebastian walked up to the two who began to flank him. Simultaneously they attacked, diving in with their swords. Sebastian worked his rapier and his short sword, fending off both attacks and moved the two in the direction he wanted, even though they did not realize it. They continued to circle him, searching for an easy victory; this was not to be. He wanted this more than anything. Sebastian wanted to be done with this fight, but he also wanted to relish it at the same time.
Making small counterattacks, he pushed them toward the fires and they swiftly moved away, reacting to his counters. Opening himself up, he turned his back and dropped his guard to the one on his left. The opening was seized upon as the figure charged ahead. With blinding speed Sebastian moved to the side and sliced outward across the approaching attacker’s midsection, doubling him
over. The other leapt out of his friend’s way and soon realized he was facing Sebastian alone, not something he wanted to do. He soon began backing with the barrage of attacks, and that’s when his luck ran out. Behind him one of the small groups of monks ran up and skewered him with a silver spear. Sebastian then dropped his sword and picked the other creature up and threw him into the fire. There was a second of recognition between him and the brothers, and they were off. Sebastian looked around him and saw battle engaged everywhere he looked. He wanted to laugh as he saw Father Jacques and Father Andrew walking along the edge of the moat, spraying their flame throwers into the pit and at anyone daring enough to approach the crazed fire-breathing monks.
Upon the top of the tower the battle had long been underway as several vampires had climbed to its top, engaging the four monks there. Father Donovan and Father Lemoine had defended their walls well, taking the upper hand to full advantage. Like so many times in the past, the Lonely Tower was a source of attention for good or ill, and this time the monks were drawing much attention to themselves—too much. Vampires were climbing to its top to take out the monks holding that precious real estate. The walls of the tower appeared to be dotted with spiders as they scaled its stones.
Sebastian looked all around him: the battle had many fronts and he wished to be in all of them, but he could not. As he looked around he saw the many groups fighting in well-organized fashion. He had left his friends up there, and now they were being joined by more than they could possible manage. Sebastian looked around again and saw him sitting upon his horse, flanked by two of his own, watching. Sebastian deeply wanted to go and sate his hunger for revenge, and Baldric was calling him, seemingly uninterested in what was happening, urging him to come to him.
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