A Kingdom Falls (The Mancer Trilogy Book 1) (7 page)

Alicia bowed her head before she continued, “In His honour, we made sure that those who found the remains of that night will have its images impressed on their minds for as long as they shall live.”

“You have done very well, Alicia Saunt,” said Joanna, “and you must be rewarded.”

“My lady, I only live to serve.”

Ignoring the glances from Gideon and Miriam, Joanna walked up to Alicia.  “That might be, but rewarded you shall be.”  Joanna rolled up one sleeve of her dress.

Alicia gasped and her eyes opened wide in disbelief.  “My… lady?”

“Open your mouth, Alicia,” said Joanna as she ran one of her razor sharp nails along her exposed wrist, causing blood to flow freely.

Alicia did as she was bid and looked hungrily at the dark blood oozing from Lady Harris’ wrist.  Joanna seized Alicia’s hair and pulled her close, whilst placing the cut wrist over the woman’s mouth.  “Drink!” she commanded.

Alicia needed no command and eagerly allowed the rich dark liquid down her throat.

“Not too much,” Joanna gently scolded as she pulled away her wrist, while keeping tight hold of Alicia’s hair.  Alicia meowed like a kitten as she watched the wrist disappear, her hands feebly trying to paw it back.

“I said enough.”  Joanna threw Alicia onto the floor, where she landed on her knees.

Alicia was breathing heavily as the vampyre’s blood seeped through her stomach and into her blood system.  Everything seemed so... so… alive.  Every touch and emotion was magnified a hundred fold.

Alicia did not notice the two naked muscular men enter the room until they reached down and picked her up.  Alicia, her eyes wide, turned to look at one of them.  She kissed him passionately, her hand grabbing his groin.

“Take her to pleasure room nine within this residence.  Make sure there are enough men, women, and toys to keep her pleasured,” said Lady Harris.

“Yes, my lady,” replied the man currently free of Alicia’s attention.

The three vampyres watched as the men dragged Alicia out of the room and away to her night of sexual pleasure.

“I wonder if she will survive?” mused Miriam.

“She is young and strong, with a healthy heart,” shrugged Gideon.

“It will be as
He
wills,” said Joanna.

“As
He
wills,” intoned Gideon and Miriam.

Joanna made her way to one of the sofas in the room and sat down.  “She has done well.  The plan is now set in motion.”

“She did,” agreed Miriam as she sat down next to Joanna.  Gideon sat in a plush deep chair opposite the sofa.

“
Shadow Killer
,” Miriam scoffed as she said his name, “will be chasing his own mange-ridden tail for further attacks or signs of us.”

“And, of course, there won’t be any,” added Gideon.

“The Church, in all of its colourful elements, will also be looking for signs of us, as well as all parties that wish to take the throne of the Twin Kingdoms,” continued Miriam.

“Which will mean they will be so busy looking over their shoulder for something that is not there, they will forget about trying to take the throne,” said Gideon.

“Which, in turn, allows us to do two things,” interrupted Joanna: “choose the time to throw the Twin Kingdoms into chaos and, more importantly, find the dead boy – he who will be father to my mother, father of our beloved Lord and Master – the father to the Midnight Man.”

“
The Midnight Man, He cometh again
!” Gideon and Miriam screamed.

“-a
nd He shall RULE THE WORLD
!” screeched Joanna.

***

The next afternoon

Alicia Saunt slowly blinked open her eyes, trying to get them to adjust to the dazzling bright light.  Her naked body ached and she felt bruised everywhere.  With difficulty, she shielded her eyes with her arm and tried to take in her surroundings.

The room smelt of sex, blood, wine, and drugs.  Other bodies lay around the room.  A man lay close to her on his back with his throat ripped out.  Alicia become aware of the taste of blood in her mouth, among other things, and wiped her mouth with her forearm.

Rolling on her side, her back to the corpse, Alicia tried to piece together from her fragmented memories what had occurred.  She remembered the gift Lady Joanna Harris had bestowed on her.  She remembered hard violent sex.  She remembered the emotional highs and lows of the night.  She remembered using the sex toys on herself and on others.  She remembered the man not wanting to participate.  She remembered ripping his throat out with her teeth and laughing about it.  She remembered still using the sex toy on the corpse.  She remembered wave after wave of pleasure rippling through her body.

Alicia heard a door open and two people walked towards her.

“Senior Banker Saunt,” said a woman’s voice.

“Yes,” muttered Alicia as a soft dressing gown was draped over her.

“If you would be so kind as to stand, my colleague and I will take you from this room to the bath and steam room.”

“That sounds wonderful,” managed Alicia as she tried to stand up.

She felt the two people lift her up, and help her in the dressing gown, before guiding her to the exit of the room.  As she left, Alicia asked, “How many?”

“It looks like four dead and seven alive, including you.”

Alicia smiled.  “It was a good party, then.”

“It certainly looks that way, Senior Banker Saunt,” agreed a woman’s voice.

Brother Bruce Warsmith swung his staff to keep the snarling jaws at bay.  “Die, vile creature!” he spat out as he swung his staff once more.  On Warsmith’s left, Sergeant Guardian Luke Black lashed out with his longsword and managed to score a light wound in the Dev’ver’s side.

The Dev’ver growled in frustration.  It was tired, wounded, and trapped in its lair, and more and more of these humans were pouring in through the cave entrance.  Snapping at the staff, which had swung towards him again, Long Tooth feinted to his right before leaping to the left, ripping deep bloody valleys with his razor-sharp claws into the chest of the puny creature that was trying to block its exit.  As Long Tooth tried to make his escape, he saw a human raising its arm and pointing something at him.

Calmly, Sergeant Guardian Dennis Dransfield raised his hand crossbow and sighted on the Dev’ver, which was charging over the writhing form of Guardian Paul Port, straight at him.

“Shoot!” he heard Brother Warsmith command.

Dennis waited for a fraction of a second before releasing his deadly bolt and hitting the werewolf square in the chest.  Instantly, the creature went wild – howling in pain, flailing its arms, and tripping on the uneven ground.

Dennis dropped the hand crossbow and half-turned to the man behind him.  “The axe!” he commanded, holding out his hand.  The man did as he was bid and, as Dennis turned back, clasping the heavy large-bladed axe, he saw Brother Warsmith pinning the convulsing beast down with his staff.  Luke Black had thrust his longsword through its back, also pinning the creature to the ground.

“Kill the vile abomination now, Dennis!” gasped Warsmith.  Dennis took position to the side of the werewolf, whose struggles were weakening, and raised the axe high.  He quickly glanced at his long-time friend, Luke Black; however, he was refusing to meet his eye – again.

“The axe!” screamed Warsmith.

With a yell, Dennis brought the axe down, half-severing the head from the creatures’ shoulders.  It took two more brutal chops to finally separate the head from the body.  Without a word, Brother Warsmith picked up the grisly trophy and strode out of the cave, accompanied by the remaining Guardians, leaving just Dennis and Luke in the cave.

“Another vile monstrosity sent back to hell,” said Dennis.

“Yes,” replied Luke as he knelt by the still body of Brother Guardian Port and closed the corpse’s eyes.

“He now sits by our Lord’s hand.”

“That he does,” replied Luke, standing slowly.

Dennis watched his friend as he stood.  Over the last couple of months, there had been a growing coldness between them.  Dennis could not understand why, although he could not shrug off the idea that Sergeant Guardian Aaron Braken had something to do with it, even though Aaron Braken had been dead for over twenty years, killed on a special mission to Castle Black.  Still, Luke had never been quite the same after Braken had talked to him all those years ago.  A loud cheer from outside the cave interrupted his thoughts.

“Brother Warsmith showing the head to the crowd?” commented Dennis

“Mmm,” replied Luke.

“What is wrong, Luke?” Dennis asked.  Suddenly, he had a deep desire to fix whatever problem was between them.

“Nothing is wrong, Dennis,” replied Luke, lifting his head and looking at Dennis.

The scars running down Luke Black’s right cheek caught Dennis’s attention and a flicker of guilt ran through him.  His own grandfather had caused them.  To Dennis’s eternal shame, his grandfather was a filthy werewolf.

Luke’s eyes flicked to the hand crossbow on the floor.  “I will send Guardians to retrieve Port’s body.”

“Luke?”

“What?”

“I know there is something wrong between us.”

“Dennis… look, we are good.  Stop worrying.”  Luke started to move out of the cave.  “Pick up your weapon and try to not be
late.”

Confused, Dennis watched Luke walk away.  Why the emphasis on ‘late’?  Shaking his head, Dennis knelt down and recovered the crossbow.  The bolt he had fired was still in the creature, but then, it could stay there, as the potency it had against the werewolf was now gone. 

Scholars among the Craktoneon faction of the Church, the faction he and all the Guardians belonged to, were aware for some time now that silver harmed werewolves; however, discoveries made in newly found scrolls showed a way of treating the silver to make it even more potent against the cursed shapechangers.  Although there was a huge downside, as the cost was huge and the silver was always destroyed once it made contact with the werewolf.

Standing, Dennis turned his head to the entrance as he heard two men enter.

“Sergeant Guardian Dransfield,” one of the men said.

“Guardian Spear,” acknowledged Dransfield.

“We are here to remove our fallen comrade.”

“Please continue,” replied Dennis, standing to one side.  “How many have we lost?”

“Including Port, we have lost three men and two others are wounded.”

“A heavy price.”

“But one we give gladly to protect the good people of this region from the spawn of the evil one.”

“Well said, Guardian Spear,” replied Dransfield before turning to the other Guardian and giving a slight nod.  “Guardian Ending.”

Guardian Ending bowed his head in reply.

“Right, I shall leave you to your task.”  With that, Dennis hefted the axe and made his way out of the cave.

“Right, my mute friend, let us see to our departed colleague,” said Guardian Spear.

Guardian Ending solemnly nodded.

Both men walked to the corpse and knelt down.

Guardian Ending started going through the deceased’s pockets.

“Lord Guardian Paul Port fought hard and died in your service.  Guide him home, Lord.  Let him lay down his burden and be at peace by your side.  Guide him home, Lord.  Guide him home,” intoned Guardian Spear as he watched Guardian Ending work.

Guarding Ending’s fleet fingers soon found what he was looking for – a folded letter in the trouser pocket.

“Ah, the trouser pocket.  Paul was a wise soldier,” commented Spear as he took the letter that Ending had found.  Opening it, he read silently for a moment.  “It is to his mother in a village called Little Elton.  It is the standard ‘goodbye’ letter – glad that he gave his life to protect the innocent, he now has a place at our Lord’s side, and has earned a place for his mother, etc, etc...”  Guardian Spear looked down at Paul.  “We will make sure she receives it, Paul.”

Standing, Guardian Spear tapped his side, as he always did at times like this, making sure his own letter was securely in place.  “Ok, my mute friend.”

Guardian Ending rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Well, you are, so stop rolling your eyes at me.”

Guardian Ending gave Spear a hard stare.

“Anyway, let’s remove our comrade from this place.”

Nodding, Guardian Ending grasped one of Paul’s arms and stood up.

***

Sergeant Guardian Luke Black leaned on a tree, watching from the periphery the circle of townsmen and women who were hanging on Brother Warsmith’s every word.  Luke’s eyes constantly searched for trouble, or something or someone out of place.  It was an automatic response after twenty-two years as a Guardian and had saved his life more than once.

Spotting Dennis Dransfield, a tight ball of anger grew in the pit of Luke’s stomach and he clenched his fists tight.  Unclenching his right fist, he ran his hand over his chin and right cheek, running his thumb up and down the scars that marked him...

... the scars that Dennis’s grandfather had given him all those many, many years ago.  Everyone at the time had agreed that Dennis had rushed to his side and saved him from the werewolf, from Dennis’s thrice-cursed grandfather.  It was only years later, when Sergeant Guardian Aaron Braken had talked to him in private, that the suggestion that Dennis had in fact arrived, not in the nick of time to save him, but rather, too late to save him from being scarred for life.

Over the years, he and Dennis had saved each other’s lives more times than he could count.  They had fought together, bled together, and been promoted together.  As time went past, he had tried to dismiss Braken’s words, but they had always remained as a nagging doubt in the background.  Then two months ago, during an attack by a foul necromancer, Dennis had been late again – only by a fraction – and Luke had been badly wounded... again.

The anger pulsed in Luke’s gut.  Because of his injury, it was Luke who had been presented with the hand crossbow and twenty specially treated silver bolts – not him.  Everyone knew that he was a better shot than Dennis, but because of his injury, because of Dennis being late in helping him, Dennis had gotten the weapon.

Luke felt the anger and rage build inside him at the injustice, and the conversation between himself and Sergeant Guardian Braken all those years ago rose unbidden in the back of Luke’s mind.

“If he had been faster, you may not have been… so visibly wounded,” said Braken.

“Dennis has saved me numerous times.”  A hint of anger had entered Black’s voice.

“I am sure he has.”

“Brother Warsmith, himself, brought Dennis into the fold.”

“And why did he do that?”

“Because he is a good man.”

“That may be, but does our Lord not say – ‘Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer still’?”

“He does, but…”

“Is Dransfield not tainted by his shape-shifting grandfather?”

“Yes, but...”

“Have you ever wondered why your friend was so slow that day?  Or why his grandfather did not attack him?  Or how Dennis managed to fight off a werewolf all by himself?”

“Those impure thoughts have crossed my mind in the darkest of night.”

“Those thoughts are not impure, Luke.  As our Lord says – ‘When it comes to the tainted and deviant, question, question, question, and question again’.”

Luke’s lip curled into snarl as he gazed with hate at his old friend.  “Why are you always late when it counts, m
y
friend?” he said, quietly.  “How much of your grandfather’s taint runs in your blood?”

***

“And so we give praise unto our Lord and cast this foul creature into the pits of fiery damnation!”  With that, Brother Warsmith tossed the head of the werewolf into the blazing bonfire to his right.  A huge roar erupted from the crowd of fifty or so villagers.

“Your village is safe now!  You may sleep safely in your beds!” boomed out Warsmith.  There was another roar of approval from the crowd.

“Now go about your peaceful and lawful business, good people of Ashbeach Down!”  Bruce Warsmith leaned heavily on his staff as he watched the crowd slowly dissipate through the trees and return to their homes.

“Are you well, Brother Warsmith?” a concerned voice asked.

Turning, Warsmith saw a very young Guardian.  “I am still full of vigour, Guardian!” he said, sternly.

“Of course, Brother Warsmith,” the young man quickly agreed.

“Now let us make our way back to the camp so that we can celebrate the lives of our fallen.”  With that, Brother Warsmith strode away.

As he made his way to the Guardian’s camp, Brother Warsmith concentrated hard on allowing neither his troubled mind nor, indeed, his deep weariness show.  The battle with the werewolf had taken more out him than he would like or care to admit.  His flesh was not as young or supple as it used to be, but with God’s will, it was still strong enough to smite the evil in this world.

No, his flesh and bone still served him well.  It was his mind that was truly troubling him.  He had always prided himself on his razor-sharp memory and ability to recall the most obscure bit of information, yet he could not remember the name of the young Guardian he had just talked to, no matter how hard he tried, and this was not the first time it had happened.  “
Please, Lord,
” Bruce Warsmith silently prayed, “
I pray to thee, spare my mind from the ravages of age, so that I may serve you better.
”

***

Later that night at the Craktoneon camp

Having sent all his attendants away, Bruce Warsmith sat alone at a table in his large tent, reading the Holy Book of Crakton by the light of two candles as he drank red wine.  He was silently reading from the Book of Miracles, trying to find solace in the
Tale of the Lost Man. 
It was a tale about an old man whose mind had left him, hence, had been abandoned by his family to roam the wilderness, alone and afraid.  He had been sheltering under a weeping willow from a momentous downpour when the Lord God had come to him and said…