A Kingdom Falls (The Mancer Trilogy Book 1) (17 page)

“Reif...”

“What?”

“There has been a werewolf attack.”

“Where?”

“At your parent’s estate.”

“My parents?”

“I’m sorry, Reif.  I really am.”

One week later at the Craktoneon camp

Sergeant Guardian Aaron Power’s face was unreadable as he stood in the huge meeting tent watching Bruce Warsmith study the Holy Book of Crakton.  Aaron noted the drool running down from the corner of Warsmith’s mouth as the once mighty and powerful man mouthed the words he read.

In the last year, the old man’s condition had gotten a lot worse.  His memory was fading and he was living more in the past than the present.  A flicker of a snide smile stole across Aaron’s face for a fleeting moment.  Once, he had revered the man in front of him; now, he just pitied and loathed him.  He was weak.

“Boy!  Boy!” called Warsmith, eagerly.

“Yes, Brother Warsmith,” replied Aaron.

“Come here, come here!”

Aaron walked slowly to the man.

“Look here, Andrew...”

“Aaron,” said Aaron, quietly.

“I have found the secret passage!”

Aaron looked down at the page and quickly read.  It was the same passage the old man had shown him repeatedly the last few months.  “Brother Warsmith, that is not the secret passage within the Holy Book of Crakton.  That is simply part of the Tale of the Obedient Man.”

“Oh.”

“I think you need a drink.”

“No, look; there is a secret message.  Look!  It’s here!” insisted Brother Warsmith.

“Read it again,” said Aaron as he walked to the side of the tent nearest him.

“I will!  I will show you.”  As Warsmith read, a confused look began to appear on his face.  “It was here, Alfred.”

“
Aaron
,” whispered Aaron, as he neared a table upon which stood a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“It was here!” insisted Warsmith.  “Maybe it slipped between the pages.”

“What?”

“Maybe the words slipped between the pages,” answered Warsmith.

Aaron shook his head as he poured a large glass of wine.

“Ah yes,
between
the pages,” muttered Warsmith.

Aaron removed a folded slip of paper from his trouser pocket and carefully unwrapped it, to reveal a white powder, which he then poured into the wine.  Picking up the glass, he swilled the liquid around, making sure all trace of the compound was gone.

“No, it’s not between the pages.”  Bruce Warsmith scratched his head.

“Here, drink this,” said Aaron Power, as he handed the glass of wine to Warsmith.

“Mmmm, what?”

“Drink, Brother Warsmith.”

“Why?”

“To our Lord and those that have died in His service.”

“Yes, that is a good toast.”

“Drink it all, Brother,” insisted Aaron.

Bruce picked up the glass with both hands and started to drink.

“Remember, all of it,” reminded Aaron as he watched the old man drink.

Placing the glass down, Bruce Warsmith wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.  “To those who have fallen.”

“To those who have fallen,” repeated Aaron.

“Did I ever tell you about the time we held the town of Safe Harbour from the Walking Dead?”

“Yes, frequently.”

“Well, the town was a sorry place and the local priest was lacking in faith and conviction...”

Aaron ignored the ramblings of Brother Warsmith as he watched the man, intently waiting for the powder to do its work.  It did not take long to start having an effect.

“...So with a sword in one hand and the Holy Book in the other, I... I... I...”  Bruce closed his eyes and placed a hand on his stomach.

“Are you ok, Brother Warsmith?”

“I think... I think the fever is upon me again, Aaron,” Warsmith’s once powerful and strong voice was now weak and almost childlike.

“Are you sure, Brother?”

“Yes.”  A hint of fear entered Warsmith’s voice.  “Please, Aaron; help me.”

Aaron took a step back as he watched the old man grasp his stomach with both hands.

“The headache is starting, and I feel that... I feel that I am going to be sick.  Aaron, please help.”

Aaron stayed where he was and watched, as Bruce was violently sick.

“Please,” begged Warsmith, holding out his hand, “Please, get me to the latrine before it happens.”  Tears of humiliation filled Bruce’s eyes.  “Please grant me some pride.”

“I shall go and get someone,” answered Aaron Power, standing still.

“Please.”  Bruce Warsmith dragged himself off his seat, slowly and painfully trying to make his way to the rear of the tent.  “Aaron, please!”

Aaron said nothing and just watched as the frail man tottered slowly towards his goal.

Just as he reached halfway across the tent, Bruce Warsmith was sick again, and as he doubled over, his bowels opened up.  The once dominant and sturdy man slowly crumpled on the floor, covered in vomit and lying in a growing pool of his own shit.

Sergeant Aaron Power looked down at the man he once idolised and spat on the floor.  “I will go and get help.”  Soft weeping was the only reply from Warsmith.

Walking out the front of the tent, Aaron Power saw Brothers Spear and Ending not far away.  “Brothers Spear and Ending - to me!”

Both men quickly made their way to Aaron.  “Yes, Sergeant Guardian Power?” said Spear.

“Quickly, Brothers!  The fever is on Brother Warsmith.  He requires your help!”

“Where is he?” asked Guardian Spear.

“In the tent.”

“Come, Guardian Ending,” said Spear.  “We must assist Brother Warsmith!”

The mute nodded his agreement and followed Guardian Spear into the tent.

Sergeant Guardian Aaron Power watched the men enter the tent.  “
The plan is coming together nicely
,” he thought to himself.  “
Soon it shall be the time of the Brethren
.”  Bowing his head, Aaron whispered, “
He cometh
.”

***

Sergeant Guardian Dennis Dransfield sat on a felled tree trunk as he ran his sharpening stone down the length of his sword for the fiftieth time whilst staring into the campfire, lost deep in thought.

“A copper for them,” said Brother Kirsop.

“Mmm, what?”

“I said a copper for them.”

“I don’t think they are worth that, Brother Kirsop,” replied Dennis.

Brother Kirsop sat down next to Dennis.  “Are you worried about Brother Warsmith?”

“No.  I mean, yes!  Of course, I worry about Brother Warsmith and his condition, but it is not what is preying on my mind.”

“And what is preying on your mind, Guardian?”

“The past.”

Brother Kirsop scratched his neck.  “Ah, the past - an interesting place to visit.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I don’t suppose this has anything to do with your worsening relationship with Sergeant Guardian Black, has it?”

Dransfield stopped mid-stroke.  “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes, my son, it is.”

Dennis let out a long sigh.  “I just don’t understand it, Brother Kirsop.  We were close friends once and now we can barely stand the sight of each other.”

“And you think the answer lies in the past?”  Dennis shrugged his shoulders.

Brother Kirsop nodded.  “Have you tried talking to him, asking him straight what the matter is?”

“Of course I have.”

“And?”

“And it just makes matters worse.  He seems to think that I know what has caused the problem and I’m just rubbing his face in it.”

“So you look backwards into the past to see if you can understand why.”

“Once, but as of now, no longer,” stated Dennis.

“Really?”

“Yes, I no longer care about what slight Luke Black thinks I may have done him.  That’s his problem, not mine.  I now look to the past to remember my family, especially my Gran.  It was she who set me upon this path.”

“How did she do that?”

Dennis placed his sharpening stone down and propped his sword against the trunk he was sitting on.  “She asked me to save her soul.”

“I was not expecting that,” admitted Brother Kirsop.

“At the time, neither was I.”

“Why did she need her soul saved?”

“Because her husband was a werewolf.”

Brother Kirsop eyes opened wide.  “Your grandfather was a werewolf?”

“Yes.  Brother Warsmith told my Gran that, to save her soul, a sacrifice to God had to be made, and that sacrifice was me.  I was to join the good fight and battle the evils of this world.”

“So you became a Guardian.”

“Yes.  Brother Warsmith branded me himself, keeping the white-hot brand over my heart for ten seconds longer than necessary to ensure all evil was purged from my body.”

“The pain must have been...”

“It was, Brother Kirsop, it was.”

“Does Sergeant Guardian Black know about this?”

“Yes, he was there.”

“So what are you going to do now?” asked Kirsop.

“I am thinking of joining one of the other Craktoneon groups further north.  I hear that the Restless Dead are causing problems.”

“That is one solution.”

“No, Brother Kirsop; that is the only solution.  The rift between Luke and me is starting to affect the entire camp.  I will not allow that.”  Dennis took a deep breath.  “I just need Brother Warsmith to be well enough to write me a letter of introduction and I shall be on my way.”

Brother Kirsop patted Dennis on the back.  “Hopefully he will be well soon.”

***

“There you are, Brother Warsmith - all nice and clean again,” soothed Guardian Spear as he and Guardian Ending helped Bruce Warsmith to his travel cot, which was situated in the far back of the huge tent.

“Thank you, Guardian Spear.”

Guardian Spear looked down at the frail, tired, and weak old man.  “It’s the least we could do, Brother.  Now sit down on the cot - that’s right - and swing your feet up.  Just lie back and I’ll place the blanket over you.  Now, that’s better, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is, Guardian Spear.  Thank you.”

“Like I said, not a problem.  Now we will go...”

Bruce Warsmith feebly grasped Spear’s arm “No.  Stay.”

“You need your rest, Brother.”

“I need your help, Guardians.  Will you help me?”

Spear looked at Guardian Ending, who frowned for a moment before nodding solemnly.

“You need to get your rest, Brother Warsmith; however, if you really do require our help, we happily give it.  How may we assist you?”

Brother Warsmith closed his eyes and smiled.  “Thank you.”  Opening them, he looked round the tent, making sure that they were alone before beginning.  “First of all, I ask you not to say a thing until I have finished.  Do you both agree?”

“Yes,” said Guardian Spear.

Guardian Ending nodded.

“Good.”  Bruce let go of Spear’s arm and sunk back into his bed.  “Guardians, I am but a shadow of the man I once was.  There is no greater humiliation for a man than to become a small child once more, and I now know that humiliation.  I have soiled myself.  I have covered myself in my own vomit.  My mind roams and I can barely look after myself.”

Tears welled in Warsmith’s eyes.  “I don’t know why our Lord has inflicted this curse on me, why He has burdened me with this awful curse... maybe it’s to teach me humility in my final days?  If it is, then I have learned my lesson well.  Luckily, in my times of need, you two have treated me with respect, kindness, and understanding.  For that, I thank you.  Others would not have been so kind.  However, lately I have started to suspect that my rapid decline in health and well-being is not all natural.  I believe it has been aided by those that hate and loath our Church.”

Guardian Spear cast a quizzical glance at Guardian Ending, who returned the look.

“Yes, I believe that there is an agent of evil within our ranks.  I cannot prove it and who would believe a man in my condition, but I know it to be true, and I know it is he who is killing me in this most vile and degrading manner.”

Brother Warsmith took a deep breath and wiped his eyes before continuing.  “Our Lord has come to me and demanded one last task of me - a task I am passing on to the pair of you.  Our Lord sent me a dream of Rose in a garden.  You must take my original version of the Holy Book of Craktoneon to that garden.  It’s just north of the Granite Mountains.  Will you do that for me, Guardians?”