The Dark Lord's Handbook (36 page)

“How can you be Lord Zoon the Reviled?” asked the figure. The mask came free with a disgusting tear to reveal a decomposed skull. “When I am Lord Zoon the Reviled?
Now give me back my robe and book
.”

Chapter 38 A Righteous Knight

Having the biggest army doesn’t mean you will definitely win, but it helps.

The Dark Lord’s Handbook

The last of the orcs in the city were making their last stand at the docks. They were buying time for the ships that were trying to make an escape with the orcish women and children. Griselda might also be on those boats. Edwin couldn’t let them get away.

“On me! My Righteous Knights! On me!” he cried and held his sword aloft to show the rally point. He had lost his horse a while back. The streets of Bostokov were no place for cavalry. While their glorious charge into the city would live forever in song, the practical disadvantages of being mounted in narrow streets became quickly apparent, especially with a cowardly foe that cut at the legs of the mounts.

Ahead was a hastily thrown together barricade. The odd arrow arched towards them from behind it. Twenty of Edwin’s knights gathered around him, trying their hardest to ignore the arrows as they clattered around them.

“Form up,” commanded Edwin and they formed a wall of steel with sword and shield. “Forward!”

Edwin’s tight phalanx of knights moved inexorably down the street, gathering pace for the last twenty yards, and smashed into the flimsy barricade, which disintegrated.

Edwin’s sword rose and hacked into the wrinkly orc in front of him. Though it was disappointing that his foe was so old, it was one less orc in the world, and that was a good thing. Edwin’s sword, tasting blood, began to sing. As his sword rose and fell, Edwin half imagined he was somewhere else, on the dry plains from his dreams, cutting his way through a dark host to the Lord that commanded them. He could feel strength flow into him every time the sword took another life. It filled him with a thirst for more, to taste the power that could only be fed with the souls of the fallen. He set about his work with furious abandon and none could stand before him.

Soon the street was awash with orcish blood and the knights tore a frenzied swathe towards the docks. But they were too late. Edwin howled with fury at the sight of the last ships pulling rapidly away from the dock, their sails full. Only a handful of orcs remained on the dock itself, a last desperate rearguard. At their front was an orc that Edwin recognised: Kurgen.

Edwin’s men formed up to the left and right of him forty yards from the orcs that still lived. For the briefest of moments, Edwin thought they were going to surrender when their leader said something over his shoulder and they dropped their weapons. But they didn’t. Instead they turned, bent over and bared their backsides.

“Kill them! Kill them all!” raged Edwin, and he sprang forward to attack.

The orcs hastily grabbed their swords and shields and formed up as best they could.

“For Morden!” shouted Kurgen.

The orcs surged forward to meet the knights. Though they fought bravely enough, none could stand Edwin’s onslaught. No shield, nor armour, could withstand his sword as it cleaved into bone and flesh.

The last orc fell and Edwin was left feeling the glory of battle but also empty as he watched the ships sail away.

“Griselda!” he called after them. “Griselda! I will come for you.”

From behind him there came a gurgling sound that Edwin realised was a laugh. Rage welled up as he spun around to see who it was. The orc, Kurgen, had pulled himself up against a crate and was coughing blood as he laughed even more.

“Griselda?” wheezed the orc. “She’s your girl, is she?”

The orc winced in pain. He was badly cut and blood covered him.

Edwin fought the urge to separate the orc’s head from its shoulders. What did this orc know of his love? Had he seen her? Edwin knelt at the orc’s side and pushed his face close. He poked two fingers into an open wound and the orc roared in pain. “Speak swiftly, orc, and let me send you on your way. What do you know of Griselda?”

Kurgen gasped for breath and blood oozed from his mouth. Edwin was suddenly worried he had gone too far and the orc was going to die before he had told him what he wanted to know. He pulled his fingers free.

“Water,” he shouted at a clump of knights who were standing watching proceedings. “Quickly.” He waved his free hand urgently as the knights floundered around looking for a water skin.

One was finally looted from a dead orc. Edwin propped Kurgen’s head and dribbled water between the orc’s lips.

“Tell me,” said Edwin softly, trying hard to gain some calm. “What do you know of Griselda?”

With some effort the orc drew breath and looked Edwin in the eye.

“She’s got quite a tongue on her,” said Kurgen. The orc laughed again, and spluttered and coughed, spraying blood all over Edwin.

Edwin stood. This was useless. He was being taunted. He put both hands to the hilt of his sword and held it high. Time to serve up justice. Kurgen looked up at him and smiled. The orc’s teeth were sharp. Edwin tensed to strike and the orc spoke his last words:

“She loves Morden.”

Rage filled Edwin.

Suddenly he was not on a dockside in Bostokov but on a dark stair. Griselda was cowering in front of him. Behind her was the fallen body of her dark lover, Morden. She raised a hand as if she could ward off the sword that plunged down to take off her head.

The orc’s head rolled from its body and hit the wooden pier with a thunk. The mouth was still grinning. Edwin kicked at it and it rolled off and into the water.

*****

That night Edwin had trouble sleeping. One reason was that not only was Rosemary Cathcart a vocal and vociferous hater of Morden (or so she said) but she also snored loudly in her sleep. He should have been able to fall dead asleep, like she had, after their energetic love making; after all, it had been a long day killing orcs. But he could not.

At least she wasn’t a chatterer like some girls he had known; they would lie there and ask stupid questions like: did he love them? There was only one woman that he loved and that was Griselda. That he had to sate his manly needs with these young temptresses instead of his love was bad enough without having to engage in bolster talk afterwards.

He felt nothing for Rosemary, and could even forgive her when she called out Morden’s name at the height of passion, for it was not her that Edwin had on his mind. Barely a moment went by, except perhaps in the midst of battle, when Griselda was not foremost in his thoughts. He strained every sinew to get her back but she was getting further away from him.

Armies were too slow, too cumbersome. They would be another month in marching, and another in fighting to take the next city, while Morden would have fled even further, coward that he was, taking his Griselda with him. It made his stomach knot itself into a ball of frustration thinking about it.

It was no good. Sleep would not be coming that night.

He slid out from under Rosemary’s quilt, made himself decent as was necessary with underclothes before gathering up the rest of his gear and slipping out of the room, leaving Rosemary snuffling like a pig.

Making good the rest of his attire, Edwin decided to walk the city. It was quiet, with only the odd patrol on the streets. Martial law had been declared and a curfew so only the criminal would be abroad. Not that Edwin expected to see anyone after the demonstration of his will when the city had been taken. The few collaborators that had been identified had been dealt with swiftly. Edwin himself executed the sentences, declaring that if he could not deliver the justice that was needed then how could he ask another man?

There was one head that he wanted to take above all others. Thinking of the day that Morden’s lifeless body would lie at his feet was the one thing, besides the tender caresses from Griselda, that kept him going.

But when? There were a thousand things to do in this city alone before they would march in pursuit. It was all too slow.

He was so lost in thought that he did not hear the first challenge. It was the sound of drawn steel that alerted him.

“I said, Halt and declare yourself!” came the challenge.

Edwin had walked a wide circle through the city and was back at the barracks that he had commandeered for his remaining knights. It was good to see that they were awake.

“Stay your weapon, sergeant. It is Sir Edwin.”

The sergeant snapped to attention as Edwin passed him.

The barracks and stable were quiet. If only he could share the well earned, deep sleep that his men were enjoying. There was a brazier in one corner of the yard and Edwin went to warm himself. Staring up into the sky he wondered if Griselda was looking at the same stars.

A shooting star streaked high above out of the west. It was like an arrow into the east where the first hint of dawn was lightening the sky. If only he could be that star, he would be with her in a heartbeat.

With a jolt, he realised that was it. He had to be that star. He had to streak towards her. He didn’t need an army. All he needed was his armour, his sword and his determination. He would leave this very minute. Let the Count play his war games. He had a Dark Lord to face and a love to rescue.

“I’m coming, my love,” he whispered to the star as it blinked out of existence on the horizon. “I’m coming.”

Chapter 39 Dark Lords

Fairness and hope are the bedfellows of disappointment and despondency.

The Dark Lord’s Handbook

Zoon’s words rolled around inside Morden’s head. The game was up. He had been found out. He could feel the strength of compulsion that was being exerted and it took every bit of his will not to immediately toss off the robe, get naked, and hand over the Handbook.

“No,” said Morden. “I am Morden. This is my robe and my book. You had your chance and you blew it.”

If it were possible, Morden would have sworn that Zoon’s lidless eye sockets widened.

“You dare challenge me, boy?” said Zoon, stepping forward.

The stench was terrible and Morden could feel waves of compulsion beat against him, a cascading whispering in his head telling him to submit and to bow before his master. But he would not. He had come this far and it was his destiny to rule.

Morden took a deep breath, took a step forward and drew on his own considerable will. “I am the only Dark Lord here.”

They were eye to eye now and Morden had to fight hard not to gag from the putrescent smell that came off Zoon. This close, Morden could see that Zoon’s flesh was alive with maggots and insects that crawled and slid over the damp skin and bone.

“I am the Dark Lord,” hissed Zoon.

“Says who?” rebuked Morden. He could feel his own strength build and the two wills pushed against each other. The air crackled around them and they stared eye to eye socket.

“Give me the book,” said Zoon.

Morden was unsure, but it looked like Zoon was beginning to strain. Given Zoon’s lipless mouth it was hard to tell if he was gritting his teeth or not.

“Take it from me,” whispered Morden. “If you want to lose your other hand.”

This time Zoon’s grin definitely widened. He raised his left arm and clicked his bony fingers. Orcs appeared from alcoves and passageways around the vault. They were not like the ones outside. These were like the one standing behind Zoon: big, well armed and, on close inspection, suspiciously dead looking. It did make some sense, a lich having an undead retinue.

“Take him,” said Zoon.

Morden took a step back. “Stop!” But they kept shuffling towards him. He had no power over these orcs. He was doomed. “Now, Zoon, let’s be reasonable. I’m sure I can find a place for you in my organisation. A lich of your talents would be a great asset. Can’t we work something out?”

A gurgling laugh came from Zoon. “I do like it when they beg. But you grow tiresome. Silence him.”

Morden took another step back. The undead orcs and their vicious two handed swords were a few paces away. This was it.

“Wait. You can’t kill me,” said Morden. “I’m a Dark Lord.”

Zoon’s laugh grew louder and echoed around the chamber. “Kill you? Who said anything about killing? Besides, you are mostly dead already.”

The ring of zombie orcs was tightening. Some raised their arms to grab him as they shuffled towards him. He slapped away dead flesh and bits fell off.

“Stop!” ordered Morden. “Hang on a second.”

Zoon clicked his fingers and the orcs stopped.

“
Mostly
dead? What’s that supposed to mean? Mostly?”

The lich was silent for a moment, as though considering the question.

“The greater part? Not quite completely? You’ll work it out, I’m sure,” Zoon shrugged and clicked his fingers again.

Clammy hands grabbed Morden and, though he struggled, he knew it was useless. He had never been that strong despite his size. He wasn’t going to fight his way out of this one so, after token resistance, he went limp.