A Kingdom Falls (The Mancer Trilogy Book 1) (26 page)

“
THE MIDNIGHT MAN COMETH
!”  The screams from the assembled cultists was deafening.

“My wife-to-be and I will help this great sect return to where it belongs, for we shall bring back the Midnight Man!”

“
THE MIDNIGHT MAN COMETH
!” -again the chant boomed out.

Aaron turned to Joanna.  “Joanna Harris, will you, before these witnesses, be my wife?”

“I shall,” replied Joanna.  “And do you consent, Aaron Power, before these witnesses, to be my husband?”

“I shall.”

“Then we are finally husband and wife,” grinned Joanna.

Those present clapped and cheered; then the lights started to flicker.

“What is happening?” asked Aaron, looking round.

“Ah,” responded Joanna, her smile getting wider, “He is here.  Our Lord is here.”

The lights flickered again and the ring of light that had surrounded the top table began to shrink.

“What does it mea...” began Aaron, but he was stopped by the impact of a dagger being buried in his chest.

“Sshh, my husband,” soothed Joanna as she twisted the knife.  “Birth can be a painful experience.”

Aaron opened his eyes wide, questioning her words.

“Do you really think that a dead creature like me could give birth?  Or that the Brethren could wait for fifteen years before He could lead them?  No, my husband.  Oh, no.”

Aaron gasped as Joanna withdrew the knife, and he sank to the ground.  Joanna knelt down beside him and nestled his head in her lap.  Aaron looked up and saw the seven Brethren from the original second sect were standing round him.  All were wearing their monk’s habits.

The lights flickered again, and more of the torches and candles failed and went out.  As one, the Brethren called out, “Pray to Him!  Call out His name!  Go on bended knee and grovel, as you mouth His name!”

Those in the cavern fell to the floor and began to intone in a low voice, “
The Midnight Man cometh
. 
The Midnight Man cometh
.”

“Jo... Jooanna... Whaaat issss happening?” stuttered Aaron.

“Shhh, Aaron; birth is a painful thing.  Just remember to breathe.”

“Breathe?”

“Yes, breathe, and it’s okay to scream, if you need to.”

“Scream?”

“Yes, scream, darling.”

Aaron look round in disbelief as the room got darker and darker.  Then, from the darkness, smoke appeared - smoke that was drifting towards him.  “What is... is that?”

“Ah, that is our Lord.”

“No... no,” declared Aaron, weakly.

“Ah, but yes, my husband.  You must be brave.”

The smoke drifted up and lingered at the wound in Aaron’s chest.  “Oh shit!  Oh shit,” breathed Aaron before he screamed long and loud.  The smoke had entered the wound.  With her unnatural strength, Joanna easily pinned Aaron’s shoulders down as he weakly thrashed about.

“That’s it, darling; scream, if it helps.  No one said birth was an easy thing to do.”

Aaron screamed one last long agonising scream before going silent.  It was then that all the lights went out, plunging the cavern into utter darkness, and in the complete black, all that could be heard was the combined cult intoning four words again and again, “
The Midnight Man cometh
.”

***

Maria Clough blinked rapidly as a number of torches sputtered back into life around the top table, creating a dimly lit area of light around which ancient deep pools of shadows gave way to their dancing and prancing offspring.  In the small island of light, she saw Lady Joanna Harris on her knees, kissing the feet of a new arrival who was dressed in a monk’s habit.  His hood was up and His face was lost in the shadows of the hood; however, even from where she was kneeling, Maria could feel the power radiating from Him.

Behind Him in a semicircle stood the seven from the Second Brethren, each with their own hoods up.  Maria watched as the new arrival took three paces forward and looked over the kneeling crowd.  Then, without warning, she heard within her head, “
I am the Midnight Man and I have returned
!”  The power of the man swept through her body like a tsunami.  She wanted to cry and laugh, to scream, to offer praise, to cower in fear - all at the same time.

“
I have returned, as foretold.  Now stand and make merry
!” the Midnight Man commanded.  “
Celebrate my life from death
.”  Maria lifted herself off the floor and reached for her glass of wine, as the band struck up once more and the singer’s husky voice filled the room.  Looking round, she could see people still lying on the floor; others were wiping away blood that was trickling from their noses.

Seeing Tania and Alicia, Maria lifted her glass to the other women, who returned the salute.  “To pleasure and pain!” decreed Maria with a wide smile.

“To pleasure and pain,” Tania and Alicia responded.

“To the Midnight Man,” proposed Alicia.

“To the Midnight Man,” repeated the other two, as they downed the wine.

For a second, the three just looked at each other; then they broke out into loud and uncontrollable laughter.  The Midnight Man had returned.

***

In Aaron Power’s old room at dawn

Joanna Harris sat on the chair next to the bed and watched the Midnight Man as He stood by the window.  His hood was down and it was strange to see the face of Aaron Power look out that window.  However, it might be the face of Aaron Power, but it was not his eyes, nor his stance, nor his presence.  All those things were now the Midnight Man’s; Aaron Power was dead and the Midnight Man was alive once more.

***

The Midnight Man looked out the window as the first rays of the new sun broke through the night’s dark veil.  “
Nathaniel West, dead
,” thought the Midnight Man. “
Red Claw, dead.  Jennifer, dead.  Solomon Pace, dead.  Shadow Killer, dead.  Yet I live.” 
A short harsh laugh exploded from the Midnight Man.

“My son?” queried Joanna.

“It’s nothing,” the Midnight Man brushed away her concern.

“There is nothing alive on this continent or even this world that can stop me,” he finished musing, before slowly turning around.  “Mother.”

“Yes, dear.”

“I have decided that I am going to conquer this continent, and then I am going to kill the gods and replace them with myself.”

“That is good, dear,” replied Joanna Harris.

“Yes, it is, Mother,” smiled the Midnight Man, “for I am the Midnight Man and no one can stand before me.”

Sitting in the corner of the tavern, the Painted Man nursed his pint of water.  Both hands visibly shook as he picked up the drinking vessel.  Taking a deep drink, he ignored the stares and sly comments coming from the other customers, who were frequenting the tavern.

“...water, did you say?  Fucking queer...”

“...have you seen his skin?  It’s like someone has drawn on him...”

“...freak...”

“...Oh, the poor thing is scared!  Look at him shake...”

The Painted Man sighed lightly, carefully placed his pint down, and scratched his chin.  He should have known the problems   entering the inn would have caused, but he was fed up sleeping under the sky.  He just wanted one night in a warm soft bed and have someone else cook a meal.  Watching the young pretty barmaid make her way towards him carrying his bowl of stew, he smiled a rue smile to himself - if only he had been... what?  -ten years younger, then he might have tried bedding her.

“Your stew,” she said.

“Thank you.”  The Painted Man picked up a spoon and tasted the stew.  “It’s good.”

“Thank you,” smiled the barmaid.

He took two more mouthfuls before placing the spoon down and looking up at the girl, who had not moved.

“Did they hurt?”

The Painted Man closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and smiling broadly.  “Some did, some did not.”

“What are they for?” queried the barmaid.

“Well, this one,” said the Painted Man, rolling up his right sleeve to reveal a naked woman with large breasts, “she was called Shelia, and we enjoyed a couple of night of fun,” the Painted Man laughed loudly and honestly, “whilst this star on my wrist - this one was done to celebrate being alive.”

“Alive?”

“Yes, alive.”

“Oh.”  The girl smiled and walked away to continue her duties.

The Painted Man’s eyes followed her well-formed arse and he chuckled to himself, “
If only I was ten years younger
,” before lifting his pint of water with his shaking hands.

***

It was two hours later when the two men sat down opposite the Painted Man. “Are you fucking gay?” one asked.

“No.  Why?”

“Well, you are only drinking water.”

“Have you noticed how he shakes?” commented the second one, “- just like a coward.”

“Well?” asked the first man.

“Well, what?” asked the Painted Man.

“Are you a fucking gay coward?  Because we don’t like gay cowards not drinking in our inn.”

“Look, I just want to be left alone.  Is that too much to ask?”

“That is easy - just have a drink with us and we shall be on our way,” replied the man.  “Rhona!  Rhona, three beers for this table.”

“Eh, no,” said the Painted Man as his shaking got worse.

“Eh, no, what?” said the second man.

“Will be there in a mo, Stewart!” called back the barmaid known as Rhona.

“Excellent,” said Stewart before turning to his friend.  “Hear that, Chaz?  We are going to have a pint soon with our newfound friend.  He would not refuse a drink, would he?”  Stewart turned to the Painted Man. “You would not refuse a drink, would you?”

The Painted Man’s eyes hardened as he tried to keep his voice level and light.  “I do not drink beer...”

“Wine, then,” interrupted Chaz.

“...nor wine.  I only drink water.”

“We will become deeply offended, if you don’t drink with us.”  Stewart’s voice held tones of violence.

“Here you go, lads,” said Rhona as she turned up with three pints.  As she placed one by the Painted Man, she whispered, “Just drink it, sir.  What harm can one pint do?”

“Well,” demanded Stewart as he lifted his pint, “a toast to alcohol.”

“To alcohol!” repeated Chaz.

The Painted Man’s hand started to reach out for the pint of beer.

“Come on; prove that you are a man - not a fucking gay poof!” declared Chaz.

“Prove that I am a fucking man, eh?” The Painted Man, with a great deal of will power, pushed the pint of beer away.  “All I fucking wanted was a hot fucking meal, and to sleep in a soft fucking bed.  Then you fucking tossers turned up.”

Chaz looked at Stewart in shock at the sudden change in their victim.

“And now,” continued the Painted Man as he rose ferociously from his chair, “I am going to have to kill you pricks.”

Chaz and Stewart quickly rose from their chairs.

“Do any other of you tossers want to join in?” challenged the Painted Man to the rest of the tavern.

A mass shake of head and murmurs of “No,” was the response.

“Right, you two, you are fucking claimed.”  With that, the Painted Man gripped the edge of the table and threw it to one side, whilst reaching for his hand axe at his belt.

Chaz and Stewart hurriedly reached for their daggers on their belts, but neither of them made it.  The Painted Man lashed out with the axe, slicing through Chaz’s throat before shoulder-charging Stewart, knocking him to the floor.  As Stewart lay face down, the Painted Man placed his boot on Stewart’s neck and pressed slowly down as he addressed the room.  “All I wanted was to be left alone.  Was that too much to ask?  Was it really too much to ask?  And now two men are dead!”

“You could let Stewart live,” said Rhona, timidly.

“Aye, I could lass, but he was the one that started it and I know his type.  He will pick on someone weaker than him to try to feel important.  Am I right, lass?”

“Yes,” agreed Rhona, unhappily, as she watched the struggling Stewart flail around on the floor, “but doesn’t everyone have the right to change?  To overcome their demons?”

The Painted Man nodded his head.  “Aye, you are right, lass.  Every man should have a chance to become a better man.”  He lifted his weight slightly from Stewart’s neck.  He continued, “You are a lucky man.”

The tension eased in the tavern as the Painted Man let the axe drop to his side and smiled.  “Yes, you are a very lucky man, but you still tried to make me drink alcohol.”  A long steel blade dropped into his left hand.  As he stepped off Stewart’s neck, the Painted Man swiftly dropped to one knee and drove his blade through Stewart’s lower spine, severing the cord.

Stewart cried out in pain as blood started to seep out over his back.

“No!” screamed a shocked Rhona.

“Oh, yes,” grinned the Painted Man, as he wiped his blade clean on his trouser leg.  He then made his way back to the corner where he had been sitting, where he attached his hand axe to his belt.  Resetting his knife up his sleeve and picking up his backpack, he strode through the silent tavern and made his way out of the front door.

As soon as he was gone, the tavern exploded into life.  Men and Rhona raced towards the wounded Stewart, others to the window of the tavern to watch the man walk away.

At the bar, the barman and another man were deep in conversation.

“Did you recognise the accent?”

“Yes.  It was a bit faded, but I recognised it - the Star Mountains.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“How about the tattoos?”

“I did not see it, but from the description Rhona gave and what I saw here tonight, I would say it must have been the Lamroste Star.”

“I agree.”

“Is that why you did not interfere?”

“Yup, and the fact that Chaz and Stewart were a couple of idiots who had it coming to them.”

“Agreed.”

“Oh, yes - did you notice he stopped shaking when the fighting began?”

“Yup.”

***

“Foolish idiot.  Foolish idiot,” the Painted Man cursed himself as he trudged down the road in pitch darkness.  “Why did you have to go and lose your fucking temper?  You could have been in a soft bed right now.”

The Painted Man stopped and looked up as he felt the first spots of rain.  “Bollocks,” he commented as he trudged towards the shelter of the trees.

Here ends A Kingdom Falls