He knew those eyes.
His enemy was sizing him up as well. Alphonse could hardly believe what he was seeing but, in the same breath, there was an odd sense of pleasure to it. Andrew. So his brother had come for his lady, after all, and a slow grin of satisfaction creased his horrific face. He looked almost happy to see his brother.
“Andrew,” he enunciated slowly. “My dearest brother. I’d hoped you would be dead by now.”
Josephine heard the words. She was shaking uncontrollably as she watched Andrew intently, waiting for any word or reaction. The suspense was maddening. When a massive gauntleted hand came up to raise the faceplate, Josephine could see the hate on Andrew’s features. She’d never seen anything like it before. Andrew’s jaw muscles flexed as he forced a wry smile.
“Wrong, as usual, my brother,” he replied steadily.
The earl’s smile faded. “Not for long,” he said. “You will be dead soon enough.”
Josephine almost collapsed. She was fighting unconsciousness with every strangled breath. It was all too overwhelming, and her brain screamed for relief. Tears filled her eyes; tears of exhaustion, fear, and joy spilled out onto her cheeks.
Andrew dared to take his eyes off his brother, his gaze falling upon her, and an odd feeling enveloped him. With all of the black hate he was feeling, there were such feelings of love to experience when he looked at Josephine that he could scare believe it was possible to feel both simultaneously. As much as he wanted to sweep her in his arms and take her away, he knew he couldn’t. He had to kill his brother. He fought hard to control the surging emotions.
He had to keep his focus!
“Josephine,” he said in his rich voice. “Are you well?”
Josephine let out a huge sob at the sound of his voice. To hear him speak to her again was absolute music.
“I am fine,” she gushed. “And you?”
“I am well now that I see you.”
He couldn’t help himself and smiled a smile only for her. Josephine forgot all about the earl and began to walk to her love.
“Cease, bitch!” Alphonse bellowed. “One more step and I shall disembowel you before my brother can take another step.”
It was probably true; Josephine was much closer to the earl than to Andrew. She stopped immediately, uncertainty in her eyes.
But Andrew stiffened at the threat. Slowly swinging Demon Slayer from side to side, he began a slow pace down the aisle.
“My brother,” he began. “I have waited nineteen long years to skin your worthless hide. My banishment alone was not reason enough to kill you, but our mother’s imprisonment did, indeed, warrant satisfaction. You are an evil, vile reptile that disgraces the name of d’Vant. You are a disease that must be wiped from the face of this earth. You are from the bowels of hell, my brother, and you may consider me the wrath of God. I am going to send you back where you came from.”
His last words echoed through the chapel, sending chills up Josephine’s spine. She closed her eyes tightly to block out the terror his voice drove into her. Andrew was so deadly serious, so completely possessed by rage, that she almost didn’t know him.
But Alphonse had a stupid grimace on his face, apparently unimpressed by the speech. He clapped his big hands together, lamely, two or three times.
“Bravo,” he said drolly. “Well-rehearsed, younger brother. You say you have only come to kill me? What of your lady love, the beauteous Josephine? You did not come for her?”
Andrew nodded. “She is the reward when all of this is over,” he said. “Your death is something I have waited a long time for – for our mother, for Josephine’s safety, and for a young man you killed whom you were not worthy of killing. His name was Nicholas. All of these things are why I shall kill you.”
The earl cocked a bushy black brow. “Oh? And what if you fail to complete your task? What of your lovely, delectable Josephine then?”
“I will not fail.”
The earl grinned wickedly. “Aye, you will, and shall I tell you what I plan to do with your woman then?” he said, obtaining sick delight with his taunting. “After I kill you, I shall marry her with your disemboweled body in full view. Then, I shall strip her down, roll her in your blood, and proceed to fuck her until she faints. After I am finished, providing she lives, I shall bite her nipples off and fuck her in the arse with the hilt of your sword. Do you fully understand my intentions, Brother? Then understand that you will die easily. She will not.”
Horrified, Josephine believed every word. Andrew didn’t flinch outwardly, but inside he was dying. He, too, knew every word was true. Sully, Thane, Ridge, and Donald were tasked with removing Josephine, so Andrew was certain she would be spared his brother’s hideous threat. But, on the other hand, he wasn’t entirely sure they would leave him behind to die when they took her to safety. Therefore, it was difficult to know how many would die for him in the chaos.
He had to win.
“A fantasy as befitting your deranged mind,” he replied coolly. “But from this moment on, you will not touch Josephine. I do not even want you to look at her.” In one swift fluid motion, he waved his magnificent sword, startling Josephine and everyone else. Demon Slayer flashed in the weak light. “Prepare to burn in hell.”
Alphonse, too, drew forth his massive blade with relish. The crowd in the chapel emitted a muffled groan, with people pressing far back. No one wanted to be involved, but everyone liked a good sword fight, and blood feuds were always energetic. Besides, there was not a person in the hall who didn’t hate the earl passionately, and would be very happy to see him dead.
Ridge, previously pressed against the cold stone wall, pushed his way to the front of the crowd on the edge of the perimeter. He remembered his vow to Josephine, his vow to repay his debt to her, and he eagerly waited for his chance. He hoped in a small way it would make up for the wrong done to her by the king. In truth, he had also grown to like Andrew a great deal and considered him a friend.
Sully and Thane were opposite Ridge at the edge of the chapel, watching the scene unfold. Sully was nearly frantic in his desire to remove Josephine from the combat area, but she was too far away from him. Ridge was nearly directly behind her, though he was several yards back. Somehow, Sully managed to gain Ridge’s attention and the understanding was that the big knight would grab Josephine at the next opportunity since he was the closest.
With nothing else to do, they waited.
“You have come back to the place of your birth to die,” the earl rumbled as he leveled off into a defensive position. “How fitting.”
Andrew walked towards his brother, his sword gleaming. “’Twill be your blood on the floor, not mine,” he growled. “Pity, brother, that we never truly knew each other.”
“I shall ponder that for the rest of my life.”
Josephine was rapidly becoming hysterical. She saw the battle brewing, the war of the titans, and she could see the blood that was about to be spilled. In truth, she only wanted to take Andrew and leave this place. She wasn’t interested in any battle of honor, yet her heart ached for what she knew would have to be. Therefore, she watched with sickening foreboding but she wasn’t at all sure if she could watch their spectacle. In her panic, the room began to spin and as she felt her knees giving way, two massive arms went around her body and pulled her away from the combatants.
“Fear not, my lady,” said Ridge. “I am here.”
Josephine fell back against him. “Ridge!” she gasped. “I did not know you were here. I… I cannot watch this. We must stop it!”
“Nay, my lady,” he said softly. “We must not and will not, you know that. If Andrew is to ever be free of this hatred he harbors, then he must complete this.”
Josephine squeezed her eyes shut, struggling not to cry. “I know,” she whispered. “But I cannot watch him die.”
“I swear you will not,” Ridge said. “Look across the room. See Sully and Thane? Donald is also there. Andrew is not alone.”
Such j
oy filled her heart at the realization, but also such pain. “He would never forgive you if you interfered,” she whispered. “You have all come to help, but he does not want your help.”
Ridge was prevented from replying as the clash of swords filled the air, the first piercing sound of battle that was sharp as a double-edged blade. Josephine jumped at the sound, emitting a small cry, but Ridge held her firmly.
Sparks flew wildly as metal came upon metal with blinding ferocity. Again, and again, and again, the violent sound of bashing swords reverberated within the sacred walls, with each sound telling a tale of anger, hatred, and pain, and of time spent away from family, and of love as true as the halls of heaven.
Andrew was true to his nickname. His sword flew with such speed and force that his brother was having trouble keeping up with him. Over and over, Andrew pounded out years of frustration and heartache, marking each blow on Josephine’s or his mother’s behalf. With each strike, he remembered the humiliation, the evil intentions, and the fear cast on a fourteen-year-old boy. He remembered being made an outcast, of crying upon hearing of his mother’s imprisonment, and of the vengeance he lived for every day of his life.
Now, his brother was going to pay for all of it.
And Alphonse could sense that. He was surprised by his brother’s ferocity. He tried to jump over the altar to get away from Andrew, but his foot caught and he fell heavily. Andrew was nearly on top of him, but Alphonse managed to roll away from him and gain an unsteady footing. A bank of tallow candles fell over in his effort, crashing melted wax onto the floor for Andrew to slip in.
Andrew gave him no time to breathe, let alone regain his balance as he once again hammered away at his brother. This was a life or death situation, and they both understood that. In their efforts, they were both beginning to sweat profusely, yet neither one was the least bit winded. With the noise and the grunting, The Red Fury continued.
A small stone baptismal went over heavily, dashing holy water on their feet. The pretty carved banisters that separated it from the rest of the chapel were chopped to bits as Andrew’s sword came down, again and again, as he swung at his brother’s big body.
Alphonse would fend off a blow, dodge, and return parry with bone-shattering force. At one point he was backed against the stone wall and ducked in the nick of time as Demon Slayer came whistling overhead. He managed to roll out of the way and take Andrew’s legs out from under him. A lovely tapestry on the wall had been slashed in half during this encounter.
The disadvantage of wearing armor was that it was extremely heavy and it could be cumbersome. It wasn’t made for fast movement. Alphonse had the advantage of not wearing any and was on his feet a split second faster than his brother. Andrew, on his knees, threw up his sword to ward off his brother’s powerful blow as Alphonse’s evil laughter rang to the rafters. For the first time during the fight, the earl suddenly seemed to be gaining the upper hand.
Josephine didn’t think she’d taken a breath since the clash began. Every time Andrew would strike, she would squeeze Ridge’s arm tightly until her nails began to dig into his flesh. She watched as the men hacked away at each other, destroying anything and everything that had the sad misfortune to be in the way.
When Andrew slipped on some rushes, she shrieked. When the earl landed a good blow, she gasped. On and on, parry by parry, thrust by thrust it continued. The setting sun threw the chapel into a dusky light, making the fighting figures appear as phantom soldiers on the edge of the netherworld.
They were fighting behind the altar now, near a giant wooden statue of Christ. When their swords locked, Andrew shoved his brother hard and he flew back into the holy statue, sending it crashing into a small table and all three went crashing to the ground.
The earl rolled onto his feet, perhaps less energetically than he had done earlier. The tides of the battle were turning against him slightly as Andrew leapt on him, his sword flashing, and the very tip of it caught Alphonse across the chest, slicing a long, deep gash. The earl spun away, knocking over an urn that fell between them and offered the only pause in their marathon battle.
“Ah!” Alphonse breathed heavily. “You have drawn the first blood, Brother! My congratulations!”
“It will not be the last,” Andrew snarled.
Flying over the urn, he charged straight into his brother. The men fell back with a crash of wood and armor, disintegrating two chairs that had once rested on that very spot. The noise they made was indicative of their hatred and the rage in their blood, and it was difficult to believe the two were blood brothers.
The battle was becoming heavy now, deep into their hatred, and the crowd was completely silent in their observance of the swordplay. Even Josephine had stopped gasping; her hands were now at her lips, folded in prayer as she begged God to spare Andrew’s life. For all of the destruction they had caused the hall, they had done remarkably little damage to each other.
But, quickly, that changed. The earl, on the floor, brought his sword up as Andrew’s arms were raised in vengeance. The blade found the joint between the arm protection and the breastplate, and he drove deep into the flesh near Andrew’s armpit. Blood gushed immediately, coating the left side of Andrew’s armor like bright red paint. The sword struck firmly in Andrew. The earl yelled triumphantly as he cruelly tore it free.
There were a few cries from witnesses in the crowd but, remarkably, not one was from Josephine. She knew this moment would come and she was somehow prepared for it. She had seen enough battle wounds to know, however, that the injury was serious. It was deep from the amount of blood that seeped from it, but no major arteries were hit. If one had been severed, he would have bled to death by now.
To Andrew, however, the wound was not only serious, it was painful as well. The gash made it difficult to lift his left arm, yet fortunately, he was right-handed. He estimated that it would be several minutes before he would begin to feel the blood loss, and he knew he needed to weaken his brother now before he grew weak himself. With a surge of adrenalin, he attacked his brother with renewed vigor.
“He is bleeding seriously,” Thane growled to Sully. “He will grow weak if he keeps this pace.”
Sully’s piercing eyes watched Andrew’s remarkable skill, even with an injury. He admired the man greatly, as much for his skill as for his character. The Red Fury more than lived up to his reputation as a fair but fearsome knight, and Sully prayed that he would triumph over his evil brother. There were too many bad knights in this world, and there were so few with Andrew’s noble soul. But watching Andrew fight with an injury concerned him. The Red Fury was at a slight disadvantage from the beginning because the earl was taller than Andrew, and outweighed him by about fifty pounds. The added handicap of the wound did not help Andrew’s cause.
Sully wondered what he would do if it came down to the question of saving Andrew’s life or not. He swore to Andrew that he would not interfere, but he wasn’t about to keep that vow, nor were the others. The question would be when to intervene, however, and Sully wondered if they weren’t rapidly approaching that moment. He sensed that the situation would soon be coming to an end because the combatants were beginning to tire. They had moved out into the center of the chapel again, almost to the point where they started.
But Alphonse was coming on strong now, as if he’d gotten a second wind, smashing against Andrew and putting dents in his armor. Andrew, however, was matching his brother blow for bone-crushing blow. When the earl misjudged a particularly vicious swing, Andrew uppercut and caught him in the side, laying open several inches of flesh. Between the wound in his chest and the gash in his side, Alphonse’s strength was draining.
But so was Andrew’s. Two hard strikes on Andrew’s sword caused him to step backwards, tripping over some debris on the floor, and he fell heavily on his side. The earl, in a fit of gleeful maliciousness, brought his blade down violently on Andrew’s helm, getting in two blows before Andrew managed to bring his sword up and fend him off.
&nb
sp; Watching this, Josephine was no longer calm. The earl’s sword on Andrew’s head sent her over the edge, and she struggled violently in Ridge’s grasp.
“Release me!” she demanded. “I must help him! Let me go!”
She put up a good fight, but Ridge held her firm. The one thing that wasn’t needed was a hysterical female running amok.
From across the room, Sully saw Josephine panic and hastened through the small crowd to reach her. He could see the fight would be ending soon and he must be with her at the conclusion.
Dazed and bleeding, Andrew managed to get to his feet and return the attack on his brother. He was not about to let himself be hacked on again, so he concentrated on discovering a weakness in his brother’s strategy. He had to find one and take advantage of it, for he was feeling weaker by the second. The blows were still heavy, but slower. Sparks still sprayed as metal bit into metal, but less frequently. Both men were bleeding and tired, yet both were fighting for their lives. It was evident to everyone in the great hall that the end was near.
The church was almost completely dark now at the onset of night, with very little light coming in from the windows as the sun was nearly down. A few candle banks remained upright, flickering in ghostly silence as a prelude to the coming death. Sully finally reached Josephine, forcing her to look at him.
“Quiet, Josephine,” he whispered harshly. “Calm yourself, lest you distract Andrew. He has enough to deal with without listening to you scream.”
Josephine’s eyes snapped to him, her oldest and dearest friend. He was the one person in the world who could make everything all right, ever since she was a girl. Sully had always been there for her, making her world safe and secure. Her eyes began to well with tears.
“Oh… Sully,” she whispered. “He… he cannot…”
He brought her hands to his lips. “I know.”
“Help him, Sully!” she pleaded.
Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle Page 53
