A Kingdom Falls (The Mancer Trilogy Book 1) (8 page)

“Knock, knock,”

Warsmith looked up.

“Sorry to disturb you, Brother Warsmith,” said Guardian Spear.  “Boy is back and he has news.”

“Send him in.”

“At once, Brother Warsmith,” said Guardian Spear as he stepped aside to allow a tall broad-shouldered man into the tent.

“Sergeant Guardian Power, welcome.”

Sergeant Guardian Aaron Power, formally known as Boy, entered the tent.  “Evening, Brother Warsmith.”

“Wine?”

“Please.”

Warsmith stood and made his way to a small desk on which sat a bottle of wine and three glasses.  “Report, Aaron,” said Warsmith as he poured the wine into a glass.

“There has been an attempt on the Queen’s life.”

Warsmith stopped pouring, before asking, “Was she hurt?”

“No, her hell-spawned bodyguard saved her.”

After pouring the wine, Warsmith made his way to Aaron Power and handed him the full glass.  “Mmm, this is important news.  We must assemble our senior men.”  Moving to face the entrance to the tent, Warsmith shouted, “GUARDIAN SPEAR!”

“You called, Brother Warsmith?”

“Yes, Spear.  Call all our senior men to a meeting in my tent.  They must attend within the half hour.”

“As you command, Brother Warsmith,” replied Spear before turning to the man standing next to him.  “Guardian Ending, you continue guarding the tent whilst I attend to Brother Warsmith’s command.”

Guardian Ending nodded his understanding and took out his whistle, which he placed between his lips.

“That’s right, my mute friend, and don’t forget to blow hard and long on your whistle, if you come under attack.  Do you understand?”

Guardian Ending nodded again.

“Good.  Right, I will be back shortly.”

Guardian Ending rolled his eyes and gave a two-finger salute to the retreating Guardian Spear.  “
What the hell I have done to deserve him
?” he thought for the hundredth time.

“I saw that!” called Guardian Spear as he vanished from sight.

Guardian Ending sighed heavily.  “I must have been very, very bad.  I just hoped I enjoyed every minute of it, as I’m paying for it now.”

***

Half an hour later

Bruce Warsmith watched as the last of his senior men entered his tent.  “Brother Kirsop, please take your place at the table.”

“Thank you, Brother Warsmith,” replied Brother Kirsop as he made his way to the only vacant seat.  Sitting at the table already was Brother Warsmith, Brother Bowller, Brother Widden, Guardian Sergeant Black, Guardian Sergeant Dransfield, Guardian Sergeant Mley, and Boy.  The Boy – Kirsop could not help think how inappropriate that name was now.  Boy had grown into a man and a very deadly one, at that.

The interior of Brother Warsmith’s tent had changed dramatically in the last half-hour.  His table had been expanded to allow eight people to be seated; extra chairs had been brought in, as well as additional candles, cups, and bottles of wine.  Attendants were standing in the four corners of the tent, ready to carry out any task asked of them.

“Now that Kirsop has arrived, we can begin,” stated Brother Warsmith.  “Guardian Sergeant Aaron Power has brought us some urgent news.  Guardian Sergeant Power, you have the floor.”

“Thank you, Brother Warsmith.  I shall keep my report short and to the point.  There has been an attack on her Majesty, the Queen, which she has survived, unharmed.  The person behind the attack was apparently the Lady Farah Sharpe.”

“Sorry,” interrupted Brother Kirsop, “did you say – the Lady Farah Sharpe?”

“Yes, Brother Kirsop.”

“Interesting.  Thank you.”  Brother Kirsop indicated with his hand for Aaron to continue.

“I say apparently because, when forces arrived at her estate, she and all her staff had been killed during a macabre and debased orgy.  The words ‘He Cometh Again’ where found written in blood behind some bushes.

“This phrase, as we all know, is associated with the Brethren of the Night and the creature known as the Midnight Man.  It was four years ago when I personally interrogated the late Brother Guardian Gordon Bowl, after his escape from the clutches of the Brethren.  Alas, he was too far gone and I was forced to kill him, but only after he prophesied the return of the Midnight Man.”

“What has this got to do with the assassination attempt on the King?” asked Brother Warsmith.  Those around the table stared at Brother Warsmith.

“What?”

“Em, you said ‘King’, Brother Warsmith,” said Sergeant Guardian Dransfield.

“No, I did not.”

“Yes, you did,” confirmed Brother Widden.

“Well, I meant Queen.  Continue, Rupert.”

“Yes,” said Aaron, slowly, as he gave a concerned look to Brother Warsmith.  Ignoring that he had gotten his name wrong, Aaron continued, “As I was saying, words that are generally associated with the Brethren were written on the wall.”

“Anyone could have written those words,” said Guardian Sergeant Black.

“But not everyone could have arranged that macabre and debased orgy,” countered Aaron.  “I believe it is the work of the Brethren.”

“Then that is indeed troubling news,” Brother Bowller said.  “With the increase in werewolf and shapeshifter attacks, our resources are spread thin.”

“Why doesn’t that dog-loving Queen open the treasury and hire more soldiers to protect her people?” demanded an angry Brother Widden.

“We believe that she is still paying the demons that helped her at the so-called Battle of Light,” replied Brother Bowller.

“That is a disgrace; she should put her own people first,” growled Brother Widden.

“We know that there are no depths to which she is willing to plummet to please her deprived masters!” spat Brother Bowller.

“ORDER!”  Brother Warsmith brought his hand down hard on the wooden table.  The room went quiet.  “Thank you.  We must not get sidetracked from the main issue, which is – Queen Rebecca Rothgal was the target of an assassination attempt by the Brethren of the Night, who conveniently left two very large clues in the shapes of a deprived orgy and the statement ‘
He Cometh Again’
.  “

Brother Warsmith stood.  “Brothers, we must ask ourselves three questions: one – why the assassination attempt now?  Two – why does the Brethren so readily claim it?  And finally, three – How does this all fit in with the increase in attacks by the thrice-damned werewolves?  This is what we need to discuss with clear minds and our God’s guidance.”

“Agreed,” stated Guardian Sergeant Mley.  “We are thankful to have you to guide us, Brother Warsmith.”  A murmur of agreement went round the tent.

“I am but a humble servant of our Lord, but I do His work with the heart of an ox, the strength of a bear, and the unwavering devotion of a true believer.  Evil and wickedness cannot stand before me or the One True Church.  Let us pray for guidance before we begin.”

“Brother Warsmith?” interrupted Aaron Power.

“Yes.”

“I am weary from my long ride and, as you know, our Lord has gifted me skills in the field of battle, not in the field of planning.  I humbly beg of you to allow me to retire and regain my strength, so that I may better serve our Lord with the skills he has granted me.”

Brother Warsmith looked at the young man before him for a moment before replying, “Sleep well, and may our Lord look over you.”

Aaron bowed his head.  “And may He guide you to the correct conclusions.”  With that, Power turned on his heel and marched out.

Ignoring Guardians Spear and Ending as they snapped to attention, Power strode out of the tent and into the cool night air.  Moving through the camp, Aaron made his way towards where his horse was tethered at the edge of camp.

A young Guardian sprang up as Aaron approached.  “Good evening, sir.”

“Evening.”

“I have fed, watered, and groomed your horse, sir.”

“He does look well taken care of.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Aaron moved to stroke the head of his horse.  “You have been pampered, Midnight, haven’t you?”  Midnight snorted.

“Sir?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you call him Midnight, when he is chestnut brown?”

“The name came to me in a dream.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you for your help, Guardian, and may our Lord look over you tonight.”

“And you, Guardian Sergeant Power.”  With that, the young man left.

Aaron quickly scanned the ground before him.  It was fairly flat and dry, so he moved to his bedroll, which was next to his saddle, and unrolled it.  Aaron removed his sword belt and laid his sheathed sword down by his bedroll, before removing his chainmail shirt, along with the padded undershirt.  Swinging both his arms, whilst rolling his neck and stretching, Aaron tried to loosen the knots in his muscles.  The cold air felt good against his skin.  He scratched his chest where the outline of a cross had been branded on him all those years ago.  Walking towards his saddlebags, he removed an object wrapped in velvet and returned to lay down on his bedroll.

Lying on his back, Aaron unfolded the velvet to reveal the brooch that he had removed from Sergeant Guardian Aaron Braken’s dead body.  Placing one arm behind his back to use as a pillow, Aaron held the brooch up and watched the hypnotic florescent colours of the stones shimmering within the brooch.  Aaron smiled.  The colours always reminded him of the colours of death: purples, greys, reds, white, ivory, yellows, and browns.

Aaron’s eyes closed and his mother’s pasty white dead face leered out of the darkness at him.  Her yellow stained ivory teeth snapped at him.  “
Hello, Mum
,” whispered Aaron.

His mum shrieked at him.

“I love you.”

At those words, his mother’s face started to fold in, as if someone was hitting it with a large stone.  Black blood began to ooze from the ruptured skin.

“
I love you
,” repeated Aaron.

His mother shrieked one last time as the top of her head caved in, before lying still.  In his dream, Aaron stood up and went to kneel next to the woman’s body.  Her head had been badly smashed and her legs were missing – just stumps above the knee.

“Mum,” said Aaron in a small childlike voice as he gave his mum a push on her shoulder.  “Mum, I love you,” - another, stronger shove - “Mum, please! I love you! Please!”

The corpse remained unmoving and still.  Aaron leaned over and put his head on his mother’s back, wrapped his arms around her torso, and started to slowly rock.  “Please, Mum.”

In the darkness, time slowed until Aaron heard the voice he had been waiting for.  “Hello, son.”

Standing, Aaron Power turned round to see a dark figure emerge from the pitch black.  “Hello, Father.  Have you found her?”

“Yes, son, I have finally found her.”

Aaron’s voice shook slightly.  “You have found my angel of death with the emerald green eyes?”

“Yes, for I am the Midnight Man and I am strong, unlike some.”

“Where… where is she, Dad?”

In the darkness an image came into being of a woman with wild eyes and hair.

“That is not her,” stated Aaron.

“
Yes, it is
,” whispered the Midnight Man. “Your memories have been twisted and dulled by that fool Warsmith.  This is Joanna Harris, your angel of death, the woman you have longed for all these years.”

“Is it?  Can it be?”

“Look at her, son.”

“I am not too sure.”

“How long have we been talking, son?” asked the Midnight Man.

“Over five years, Father.”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“No,” said Aaron.

“Have I ever led you astray?”

“No.”

“Have I ever tried to hold you back – like Warsmith?”

“No.”

“Then, son, look upon this woman’s face.  Do you not see a love of death that matches your own?  Do you not see beauty in her madness?  Look at her, son; look at her.  Do you not see an angel of death?”

Aaron Power looked at the image of the woman.  Could it be she was the one he had searched for?  Could it be the angel from Castle Black that had killed so effortlessly and so wonderfully?  Could it be?  Aaron gasped as Joanna Harris’s eyes locked onto his – they were emerald green.  Confused, Aaron tried to remember what colour they had been a few moments ago.  He was sure they were not emerald green…  They had been… they had been…