And the Gates did Burn
By Alex White.
They arrived
early in the afternoon, four of them, covered head to toe in black armour.
Sitting astride great warhorses that seemed to come from the very stuff
of nightmares, the Black Knights carried long, sharp lances. The banners
that hung and blew limply in the soft wind heralded the arrival of the
Dragwyn war host. Within an hour of the Black Knight's appearance, a line
of dark shapes started to become clear through the hazy fog that covered
the hills around the fort of Sir Cathell, even though it should have burned
away in the heat of the sun.
Sir Cathell
stood atop the tower of his keep, looking down at the assembled Dragwynian
army. It was more of a preliminary force, sent by the accursed Dragwyn
High Commander, Sir Cathell thought. Below him, the fog started to billow
over the hills, pouring like grey lava onto the land beneath him. A cry
rang up from the guards patrolling the battlements, the captain trying
to keep order.
What vexed
Sir Cathell was that the Dragwyns had not moved since arriving earlier
that day. Standing motionless, just out of bow range, the combined force
could not have numbered more than one hundred foot soldiers. Yet there
was an unearthly quality about them, a fearful aura that crept into the
hearts of the men on the other side of the wall. It was this feeling that
had stopped Sir Cathell from ordering his own men out onto the field to
do battle with the Dragwyns, a feeling deep in his bones.
Only the banners
and pennant moved, as the fog billowed through the legs of the Dragwyns,
breaking against the manor walls like an angry sea. Even the Black Knight's
horses did not move; the inhuman silence that issued from them was almost
deafening. Sir Cathell cursed and headed towards the stairs that led back
down into the keep.
The journey
down the long spiral staircase was filled by deep thought as the lord of
Sevain tried to formulate a strategy. His own men numbered almost five
hundred, logistically there was almost no way that the Dragwyns could win,
let alone keep up a siege, or storm the manor. Yet something told Sir Cathell
that if he sent his men out onto the walls when the Black Knights attacked,
they would die. Any attempt to engage them on the plain before the manor
would also meet with disaster, Sir Cathell was sure of it, but he did not
know why.
Elevri, his
adviser, met him at the bottom of the stairwell. A thin man, almost emaciated,
Elevri was a brilliant strategist and organiser. Indeed, without his help,
Sir Cathell doubted that he would be able to keep the day to day running
of Sevain under control. Not that mattered now, Sir Cathell thought to
himself as Elevri started to speak.
"Sir, the boy
has not returned, and I have grave news about the war in the North."
"Tell me everything,
spare no detail. How does our King hold up?"
"The War Lord
has been slain my lord. Assassinated by Neshan agents, stabbed while he
slept. I am afraid that another city has fallen, Herthyn. Utterly destroyed
they say." The adviser was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps
running down the hall towards them.
"My lord, my
lord. The Black Knights, their leader has ridden to the gates." Sir Cathell
looked up sharply, then grabbed Elevri and ran down the corridor out to
the wall.
"Why was he
not shot? What good are archers if they don't fire arrows at the enemy?"
They reached the great oaken doors that led out into the courtyard. Across
it, the Outer Wall stood, fog oozing through the small cracks, making the
surface of the yard impossible to see. As Sir Cathell and Elevri ran through
the yard, the fog, up to their knees, seemed to drain the colour from them.
A sensation of frigid cold crept up Sir Cathell's legs, despite his thick
woollen breeches. As he ran up the narrow stairs, Sir Cathell was suddenly
aware of a thought entering his mind: "Give in, you have no hope." It wasn't
like a voice in his mind, merle a thought. A shiver went down his spine.
Looking down
over the battlements, Sir Cathell could see the Dragwyn, sitting, almost
floating in the fog that on the other side of the wall was much higher.
Elevri, standing next to Sir Cathell whispered to his lord: "Sir, it is
the leader of the Dragwyns. If he is cut down, then the rest will collapse.
Quick, order the archers to shoot him." the lord of Sevain thought quickly.
It would be dishonourable to cut down an enemy while he stood alone, yet
this could possibly be his only salvation. Sir Cathell's arm flashed up,
signalling for the archers to fire. As his arm moved up, Sir Cathell looked
into the dark slits of the great helm that the Dragwyn Knight wore. His
arm froze, as the piercing blackness of the eye slits seemed to peer into
his very soul. Slowly he lowered his arm.
An archer,
who had seen his lords arm flash up, and whose legs were trembling in the
wake of the supernatural fear that emanated from the Dragwyns pulled back
on his bow string and loosed an arrow, aimed at the heart of the Black
Knight.
The bolt sped
like quicksilver, but as it reached half way, the flight feathers burst
into brilliant blue flame; the rest of the arrow was quickly consumed,
the ashes falling softly to the earth.
"I am Tâche
le Morceau. Knight of Dragwyn. If you swear fealty to me and my lord, I
shall only slay every fifth person, if not, all shall die. You have one
hour to decide, Sir Cathell. The life of every fifth person, or all of
them." The harsh words issued like the voice of the dead from beneath the
dull black helm, heard by every man on the wall.
Sir Cathell
turned away as the Black Knight rode back to his men. Face as white as
a sheet, the lord of Sevain walked slowly down the stairs that hugged the
wall like a vine.
The guard captain
marched up to Sir Cathell and saluted, "Sir, what are you going to do?"
"Wait. Double,
no! Triple the guard, make sure that no one approaches the wall again."
The captain saluted again and stepped away. Mean while, Elevri walked close
beside his lord, a grimace creasing his features. They walked in silence,
through the plush hallways and carpeted corridors until they came to a
set of large double doors. Two guards pulled open the doors as they walked
into the chamber beyond.
"Well Elevri,
if ever I needed your advise, it is now. Did you see the arrow burn out
of the air?"
"I did my lord,
though I can scarcely believe my own eyes," the thin man sat down at the
table, upon which was a large map of the manor an its surrounding lands,
"we cannot accept their demands-" He was cut off abruptly by a shout.
"Damn it, I
know I can. God curse them, every fifth man. One hundred dead. That is
intolerable. It's inhuman. What am I going to do?" the lord cradled his
head in his hands, sighing deeply. Sir Cathell's mind was blocked. No thoughts
came to as what he could do to defeat an enemy who could set fire to the
very arrows that were fired at him.
"Sir, it seems
to me as though they will attack and attempt to storm the walls, although
how they plan to do that is beyond me. Unless they can fly." There was
a deathly silence, "I mean, my lord, "Elevri said hurriedly, "they have
no siege weapons or equipment. They could not possibly starve us out. They
won't be able to gain access, or even fight us hand to hand."
"We can do
nothing until they act, Elevri. What do you know of this devil Tâche?"
Elevri shook his head.
"Nothing my
lord."
The grey sky
seemed to mirror the dark fog that covered the land in every direction,
for as far as the eye could see, the world was a static ocean of mist.
With the hour nearly up, Sir Cathell stood over looking the wall. Standing
as he was on the palisade, he could see clearly the Dragwyns, who according
to the guard, had not moved since he had left.
"Damn that
boy! If only he had delivered the message." Clad in bright metallic armour,
Sir Cathell's fist slammed into the parapet, "I should never had let such
a young, incompetent child go on a mans duty." The previous day, Sir Cathell
had sent a messenger out of the keep and into one of the captured towns.
The message was of vital importance and told of Sir Cathell's forces and
position of all of his remaining soldiers. It was to have gone to Petrus,
who would have been able to make sure that the letter made it safely to
the Fisher King Argan. The boy had not returned, and Sir Cathell privately
believed that he had deserted, condemning the rest of the men in the manor
to die at the hands of the Dragwyns.
"If you have
any suggestions Elevri, say them now, for the knight is riding towards
us." Indeed, the leader of the Dragwyn army was approaching and with him,
the waves of irrational fear, stronger than ever washed over the fort.
To Sir Cathell's left, a soldier fell to his knees with a sob, a dark stain
spreading through his breeches. The lord of Sevain swallowed, and was glad,
not for the first time, that his wife and only daughter were away at his
brother's manor near Cath Palu. He tried to stop the trembling of his knees,
the chattering of his jaw, the shaking of his hands, but the fear, now
approaching terror was to great.
"Lord of Sevain,
have you come to a decision?" as the Dragwyn Knight spoke, yet another
guard, and another broke down, a few fleeing their posts and running down
the narrow stairs into the thick fog. Next to him, Elevri was breathing
quickly, with little breaths, his eyes bulging in their sockets. Every
part of Sir Cathell was screaming for him to say yes, he gave in. But his
honour spoke before he gave into his fear, "I will not bow to you, nor
any of your demon-spawned kind. I bend my knees only to my true lord, King
Argan. I spit in your face, you Dragwyn demon."
The Black Knight
removed his helm, slowly revealing the scarred face underneath. The grim
face looked up at the lord of Sevain; it's hooded eyes as hard as diamond.
As the eyes swept the battlements, the aura of fear increased, pulsing
like a heart beat, extending and reaching into the minds of all those in
the manor.
"You have condemned
every living soul behind your walls, to death." the last word echoed around
the valley, or so it seemed, for he had not raised his tone above that
of a murmur.
As more soldiers
broke and ran from the walls, Sir Cathell fumbled with his sword, feebly
attempting to release it from its sheath. Suddenly, a flash fire leapt
from every bow on the battlement, causing a cry of alarm from the twenty
or so archers who still stood their ground. The flame was brilliantly bright
and intensely hot, those who didn't drop the weapon ensuring that the wretched
man caught alight himself.
In seconds,
the bows were blazing, so too were the bolts in their quivers. Several
archers ran screaming from the walkway, their arms burning like bonfires,
the flames spreading like lightning. One man rushed towards one of the
burning men with a bucket, but even that did not stop the flames.
With the sudden
flurry of activity, the spell of fear was broken, soldiers yelled and called
out, swords were drawn and helmets put on. Sir Cathell, suddenly free of
the fear which had held him almost paralysed, started to issue orders,
"Water, get water up here!"
What little
sound issued from the fog filled courtyard was muffled and faint; however,
several figures ran up the narrow stairs carrying buckets of water.
Sir Cathell
was aware of a feeling of warmth, looking down, he saw that his sword was
starting to glow. A faint odour of burnt leather and metal came from his
gauntlet, and Sir Cathell dropped his blade with a cry. Several other clangs
meant that other swords were being similarly affected.
A movement
from the Dragwyns was visible as Sir Cathell tried to take off his metal
glove. Their ranks parted to allow the four Black Knights to canter towards
the massive, iron studded gates. The faint sun illuminated the quartet
as they stopped some thirty paces way from the wall. The lead Dragwyn Knights,
the scar-faced one lifted a black clad arm and pointed at the great Iron
Wood gates.
Sir Cathell
heard the words leave the un-helmed knights lips, saw the eyes narrow,
felt the sudden blow of super heated air, "Burn."
The world spun,
as the lord of Sevain tried to regain his balance. Beside him, Elevri tried
to pull Sir Cathell from falling to the cold, hard stone paving below them.
"The gates
are burning, the gates are burning!" A shrill cry rose above the rest of
the frenzied noise, followed by the cries of several more soldiers who,
unseen in the fog, which now reached well above their heads, tried vainly
to put it out.
Steady once
more, Sir Cathell and Elevri looked down at the four knights, the bare
head of Tâche more frightening than the dark helms of the other three.
Suddenly, the scarred face looked directly at Sir Cathell. Strange, dark
thoughts entered Sir Cathell's mind, thoughts of turning against his men,
of strangling Elevri, who stood next to him, or many unholy acts, flashing
through. Sir Cathell clutched his head, as the Black Knight stared with
those diamond eyes.
"My Lord,"
Elevri said, concerned, "what is wrong? Are you hurt?"
"Silence worm!"
Sir Cathell's arm swept around in a long, angry stroke, knocking the adviser
backwards. Elevri toppled over the edge of the causeway, disappearing into
the fog filled courtyard. Sir Cathell collapsed to his knees, his hands
clawing at his head, as if to rip away the evil thoughts that were invading
his consciousness.
On the plain,
the Dragwynian soldiers started to move towards to burning gate, great
black clouds of smoke curling up to the sky like a weed. In unison, the
barely visible infantry drew their swords, making a sound like the tearing
of silk
As the gate,
burned almost to charcoal, started to go out, the Black Knights urged their
Warhorses into a gallop, crashing through the still burning wood. The soldiers
behind them followed, breaking a wide hole through which they poured, like
a swarm of angry wasps.
The fog had
dissipated. Now only the heavy clouds overhead, masked the sinking sun.
Tâche walked through the courtyard, stepping daintily over the corpses
of the dead soldiers. Most of them were men of Sir Cathell; the few survivors
were being herded into the feasting hall.
Walking up
the stairs that led to the battlements, the Knight was careful not to slip
on the blood covered steps. Reaching the top, Tâche glanced at the
shivering form of Sir Cathell, clutching at his head, gibbering in near
madness. Standing over the lord of Sevain, Tâche extended a gloved
hand. Sir Cathell looked up with red rimmed eyes, tear streaks running
like rivers down his face. A hopeless, desperate look, a look that was
approaching absolute horror was etched across the face of the once proud
knight. His lower lip trembling like a leaf, small sobs escaping his mouth,
Sir Cathell reached out a shaking arm and took Tâche's offered hand.
Racking sobs
issued from Sir Cathell as they descended the stairs, the lord unable to
think because of the memories of what mental pictures had entered his head.
Led into the keep with two of the Black Knights following behind, Tâche
opened the door to the feasting hall. In there, the survivors of the brief
but bloody battle stood. Dragwyn soldiers stood in front of them, naked
sword flashing in the torchlight.
"Before you
die, Sir Cathell, you will watch as the last one of your men dies in front
of you. Before you die, you will beg me to end your life."
The Black Knight
nodded and the first Dragwynian soldier raised his sword over the head
of a trembling man and brought it down.
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