Overland Quest

by D C Ware

  “Giant!!! Listen to me, I blaspheme your God! I curse The One!” Rendahl’s call was so loud and so profane everyone fighting around them paused and looked toward him including the mighty Samson.

  “Arghhhhhh!!” Samson yelled and taking both hands he rent the last of his clothes from his body. Standing their naked he cast his bearded and bloody gaze upon Lieutenant Rendahl.

  Seeing him naked the first knight to accompany Rendahl saw an opportunity and ran at him with his right sword arm raised high.

  Samson caught him by the throat with his right hand, lifted him into the air and grabbed his sword arm with is left hand and pulled it from his body. As the startled knight watched his arm get tore off, Samson crushed his windpipe. Samson threw the body aside.

  “Traitor knight! Is it not enough that you have dishonored your king? Now you would blaspheme my God as well! I swear by all the Hosts, how’ere this battle goes today I will pull your blaspheming tongue from your throat!!”

  “Have at me then giant! Have at me!!” Rendahl braced himself and held his longsword with both hands.

  Samson paused to pick up the broken shaft of a lance and rushed at the traitor knight.

  The second knight that had followed Rendahl stepped in front of the giant to protect his lieutenant. But without stopping Samson threw the broken lance like a spear and sent it hurtling into the knight with such force that it went through him and bounced off Rendahl’s armor behind; denting it!

  Rendahl roared! He had seen enough of his knight’s exploits on his behalf. He would have his glory now and he rushed at Samson.

  Samson tried to catch him up with his right arm but Rendahl moved to the side and the giant ran past him. Rendahl brought his sword down in a glancing blow across the giant’s back causing a great gash that accompanied many other cuts and lashes he had received in the battle.

  Samson turned and slowly walked up on Rendahl who began to circle. Both men circled each other while around them the other men on both sides stood watching.

  Rendahl attempted a high stroke from left to right but Samson smacked the sword away and deflected it with his hands that he had wrapped in fur prior to the battle. He was so strong that Rendahl barely managed to keep from dropping his sword.

  Next Rendahl tried a thrust. He leaned in and thrust hard going right for the giant’s midsection. But Samson stepped aside and grabbed Rendahl’s armor with both his hands and tossed him into the ground, his own momentum aiding in his fall. This time he dropped his sword.

  Samson turned toward him and Rendahl drew his long knife. But before he could stand back up Samson walked up and stomped down on his breastplate so hard that all the fasteners and ties snapped and the armor crushed right into Rendahl’s chest. Rendahl couldn’t breathe. His sternum and most of his ribs were broken. He brought his blade down into the giant’s foot temporarily pinning it to his chest. But Samson did not scream. He looked dead into Rendahl’s eyes as a single tear from the pain ran down his bloody cheek. Then he smiled and raised his right leg with the knight’s body still attached to it and with a kick freed the knight from his foot and sent him hurtling across the battlefield. Samson then slowly pulled the long knife from his foot. Keeping it.

  Rendahl landed on his sides and the few ribs that had not been broken broke. His head was cracked on the right side and he could not move his right arm. The last thing he felt was Samson pull him up by the hair of his head with his left arm.

  His lazy eye caught one last glimpse of the giant’s fist as he raised the knight up - insuring he would see the blow that killed him.

  Samson hit Rendahl as hard as he could without letting go of his head. The first punch broke his jaw and knocked him unconscious. The second fractured every bone in his skull. Finally, Samson took the long knife and cut the side of the dead knight’s face open exposing his tongue. Then Samson dropped the knife and with his right hand pulled the blasphemous tongue out by its roots.

  Every Nemesis Knight present screamed and fled back toward Fire Castle. Every warrior monk cheered and began chasing any knight they could find.

  As Samson stood heaving, Friar Damian came up to him. The Friar was close to distraught and had been mesmerized as the grotesque fight played out like all the others around him. The Friar knew better than to startle the giant immediately after a fight like that and standing about three feet away spoke very softly.

  “Brother Samson. It is I, Friar Damian. May I approach.” He waited and did not move.

  Samson looked at the disfigured corpse, the tongue still in his hand and finally at the Friar and with his dry throat cracking, his guttural voice whispered an omen told to him many years ago in his past “…and what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”

  The Friar smiled and approached the giant. Grabbing the wrist of his hand that was holding the tongue he opened it and had Samson drop it.

  “It will surely not be born today Samson. Not while you fight with us. But you must leave this battlefield Samson.” He said softly but sternly.

  This finally pulled Samson out of the berserker rage that had seized him and he looked down at the Friar, a man whom he loved like a father; confused.

  “You must leave because the battle is lost. Even now the last of our brothers are dying…and I must shortly go to join them. But you must live!”

  “Why? Why should I live? I am a Son of Cain?”

  “No longer my friend. You have served us well since you came to our dark lands as a child to escape those who were ever anxious to gain glory by killing the mighty son of Samson. And we have loved you like a brother. But we are excommunicant. Only in death may we find true and lasting redemption. Only death can purge us. Such is not your fate. You must leave this battlefield and the land of the dark and once again become the ‘Son of Samson’. The son of your father. I pray you Samson. Avenge him and in time avenge us!”

  Friar Damian felt the giant squeeze his hand and look down at him with great tears washing the blood from his face. Samson took one last view of the battlefield and noted the large warlord in furs and on the black horse. To remember. Then he turned, retrieved his double headed axe and walked into the forest.

  Friar Damian stood hurt and broken for a few moments more. Then two brothers ran up to him: Elias and Jeremiah. Panting they stood and waited at the Friar’s side. None spoke. The three of them simply looked at each other. The Friar put his hands on both their shoulders and as one they sprinted toward their falling brothers being cut down by Warlord Maxx and his Nemesis Knights.

  The calamity overwhelmed her. She was instantly and at once in many places at the same time. The contest with Morcai…his dark power revealed. In the forest with the one called Pathfinder. But why? In her pavilion resting, resting, she was so tired from her exertions. And in battle. But what battle? Where? The Lady strained her senses, trying to awake. She needed to awake.

  “My Lady, my lady?” Sir Dubois had entered the pavilion and knelt before the beautiful scion that was The Lady. She was lain across several large pillows, more sprawled out than curled up. Her face and expression were of sleep but of a troubled sleep Sir Dubois had only seen before by someone under an alchemist’s brew. He swaddled her head and shoulders in his arm and urgently, but gently called to her to awake.

  The battle outside between the Nemesis Knights and the Sons of Cain was drawing closer and the Sons were being struck down one by one, their zealous fury and ferocity was simply not enough to overcome the heavy armor and skill of the Nemesis Knights. Already pairs of the knights were raiding through the camp burning the tents, kicking over the fire pots, killing the livestock and slaughtering those who had attached themselves to The Lady’s caravan.

  “My Lady you must awake…now!” She opened her eyes.

  The Lady was awake. She was in her pavilion. The other places then…Morcai, the Pathfinder, the battle all in her past…or her future. Someone was holding her. Yes. The knight. Morcai’s knight!

 
; Gabriel jerked free of Sir Dubois and exerted a power consisting of sheer will that threw the knight across the pavilion. She was still weak but she was not defenseless. And there was one more thing. Outside. The sound of battle. Of men fighting and dying. The battle. That was also real and it was happening now. Gathering herself into a sitting position she looked across the pavilion at where the knight had been thrown when she freed herself. He was standing but he did not seem poised to attack. ‘Where was Friar Damian?’ she thought. Quickly she sent her presence out and searched for him finding him in the thickest part of the battle. ‘Damian?’ Was all the message she dared whisper to him. Fearful of distracting him in the midst of the battle.

  Friar Damian sensed the whisper and for an instant simply muttered ‘my lady?’. But even that moment of a distraction was too much and as he did so a large warlord mounted on a great black horse with the tattoo of a canon on his arm brought his axe down and sundered the friar shoulder to belly. Friar Damian was dead.

  She was mortified. “Aahhhhh!!” she yelled and the force of the cry was so great that it traveled through the body of the friar, with whom she was still mentally connected, and it blew the warlord from his horse and knocked down two other knights standing beside him.

  Sir Dubois had risen but almost fell again when The Lady yelled out. But somehow the cry had not been directed at him or even inside the pavilion. He ran to the entrance and peered through the flap. A band of knights around the Warlord had heard the cry. They were helping the warlord up and he was giving orders and pointing in the direction of the pavilion. They were coming for her. Sir Dubois closed the flap and turned again to The Lady who was weeping with her legs curled up in a sitting position and her head in her knees.

  “Lady I beg you to come with me. I have pledged my life to protect you. I will stand here and die with you if you order me to do so. But we need not. Your task here is not complete. Please allow me to save you and in doing so save myself.”

  She stopped crying and looked up at the knight. She realized that he had not come to harm her. If he had meant to do so he could have killed her in her sleep. Just then she remembered her conversation with him when she entered her pavilion. He had pledged to guard the way until she came out. And he was still guarding it. He was keeping his word even if it meant defying his master and lord. Her heart broke for him and even her hatred for Morcai, his master, would not allow her to ignore his plea.

  “Lead on then my good knight.” She said as she gathered herself and stood.

  Her voice gave him strength. “To the forest my Lady. We may lose them. And even if we do not I can stand against them one at a time in the cloister of those trees.”

  Sir Dubois did not wait for her reply. Grabbing her by the hand he made a dash for the forest edge.

  As he emerged from the pavilion. One of the knights sent by the Warlord tried to bar his path. Dubois never broke his stride. He sheathed his longsword, drew his dirk, and planted it in the knight’s throat without pausing.

  There was a crop of trees jutting out from the edge of the forest less than forty yards from the pavilion. He made for it pulling The Lady as fast as he dared without drawing too much attention to themselves by breaking into an all out run.

  But Warlord Maxx had already ascertained the location of The Lady’s tent and was now pulling Nemesis Knight’s from the slaughter of the few monks that remained and ordering them to catch up with and cut off the escape of Sir Dubois and The Lady.

  But they were heavily armored and the best speed they could muster were large quick strides. Sir Dubois, on the other hand, had wisely only donned part of his armor. That being the breastplate, his cuirass, and his greaves; foregoing the more cumbersome pauldrons, gorget and vambraces. He would beat them to the forest..barely. Looking from afar, Warlord Maxx also surmised that Sir Dubois would beat his men to the forest but not him! Maxx had remounted his great black warhorse and was already galloping through the camp, past his own men and straight for the knight and The Lady.

  Sir Dubois almost did not see him and came very close to being cut down from behind when The Lady sensed the warlord’s presence and called out “the canon tattoo!”

  “Maxx!” thought Sir Dubois as he paused and looked back.

  Maxx’s sword was drawn and pointing straight at what had been Sir Dubois’ back. Sir Dubois pushed The Lady in the direction of the last few yards to the wood line and said “Run, my Lady! Do not stop or wait for me! If I live I will catch up with you!”

  Drawing and then grasping his sword with both hands he parried Maxx’s sword away so hard that it flew from his hand.

  Maxx wheeled his horse about and momentarily paused to decide whether to keep going for The Lady or deal with the knight. His orders were to kill The Lady and his men could finish off this knight when they caught up. But there was something about this knight that gave him the impression he might be wrong about that last part. Maxx looked closer and for the first time realized that the knight was wearing the armor of a Nemesis Knight! He was a traitor! But he had not ridden out of Fire Castle with Maxx and Lieutenant Rendahl so he must have been part of the earlier contingent led by the Oathbreaker. And judging from his bearing he must have been the Oathbreaker’s lieutenant, the one called Dubois.

  “Sir Dubois!” Maxx called out from atop his charger as he drew his large axe from where it was fastened to his back. “You are a traitor, Sir knight! A double traitor! First you betrayed your vows to your king and now you betray your lord and master Morcai!”

  Sir Dubois pivoted to face the large warlord, sword still held in both hands at the guard position.

  “And what do pigs and dogs know of vows and oaths Maxx?” Dubois stared into the warlord’s eyes. The insults had struck home. Sir Dubois continued, “I recognize you warlord. Hermun Maxx the despicable Butcher of Bastonne, murderer of women and children! I may be a traitor. A double traitor as you say! But that is a far cry more noble than a piece of shite like you!”

  Even as he spoke six of the Nemesis Knights pursuing him and The Lady arrived and proceeded toward him.

  “NO!!!” Maxx yelled shooing them away with his axe. “Go find the whore, leave this dog to me!”

  Doing as they were ordered the six knights set out into the woods after The Lady. Sir Dubois moved to intercept them but Maxx cut him off with his large warhorse and barred his path.

  “No, no traitor knight. We have unfinished business you and I. I…” Maxx’s last sentence was cut off as Sir Dubois ran his sword through the warlord’s great warhorse Albion! Yet even with three feet of steel lodged in it the proud black warhorse refused to go down and kicked furiously at the knight sending him reeling back. But as he fell back and withdrew his sword, blood shot out of the fiery charger and it fell to the earth just as Maxx jumped clear.

  There were no words spoken between them.

  Maxx came at Sir Dubois while he was still unbalanced and first kicked him dead center in the groin area. This sent the knight to the ground. Maxx then began kicking him in the legs, in the sides, and near his head. Being armored, most of these kicks only served to prevent Sir Dubois from standing but the kicks toward his head caused him to raise his hands to protect himself and in doing so he could not bring his sword up in the guard position. Something Maxx had intended all along. Just as Sir Dubois raised his left arm for the third time to fend off another kick, Maxx hurled his great axe with all the strength he could muster straight into the knight’s breastplate and chest!

  It stuck there and Sir Dubois gasped. With one arm he swung his sword wildly trying to cut the legs of the large warlord but he missed.

  Maxx stood over him just looking down at him for a second. Then he knelt down on one knee, put his left hand on the knight’s throat and bent close and whispered in his ear, “you are right traitor knight, I am a butcher and a killer of women and children. And do you know what else? I enjoy it!” Sir Dubois gasped and struggled to break the warlord’s grip. “And now I am going to fetch your whor
e of a lady and when I have satisfied myself with her. And that may be a while from now. I am going to kill her too. And I am going to enjoy it!” Tears ran down Sir Dubois’ face which had turned blue. His arms went limp and his eyes were fixed open. Maxx drew his long knife, briefly waved it in front of the dead knight’s face and then thrust it through his neck.

  Gabriel made it to the woods just as the large warlord bore down on Sir Dubois. She looked back contemplating on giving the knight whatever aid she could. But she was still so weak. The contest with Morcai had drained her and taken from her things she had not lost before. She was convinced that had she not received aid from one of The Host she would have died. But even his healing only restored so much. She needed rest. Long rest but still she would not leave the knight unassisted. She looked back and made eye contact with Sir Dubois just as he knocked a sword out of the large warlord’s hands. Once again she heard his words, “Run, my Lady! Do not stop or wait for me! If I live I will catch up with you!”

  If he did not live, she would avenge him. She ran. So many had given up so much to defend her, to see her task completed. She would avenge them all. So she ran faster. Already six of the warlord’s knights were within sight of her. Her previous hesitation allowing them to gain on her.

  “Ahead! It’s her! Go left!” She heard them scream and yell to one another. She tried to run faster but could not. She was still too weak. As the sounds grew louder and closer it was apparent she could not out run them. So she would make her stand. She looked for an enclosed area, preferably a cloister of trees where they would have to come at her one at a time.

  She found such an area and immediately sat down. She crossed her legs, lowered her head and closed her eyes. She would expend what little power she had left. Killing herself and those with her.