The rest of the servants looked at Dorian for an explanation. “What’s our part in this?” asked one of them.
His heart clenched as he answered, but he kept his face confident, “Those of you who are willing, will come with me. Those who are not can stay here. They may show mercy if you return to your places and pretend you weren’t part of our group.”
“What will you do?”
“I’m going out there,” said Dorian. “I will create a distraction. I’ll make for the gate, try to sow as much confusion and discord as possible. The princess and her companions may be able to escape unnoticed during the turmoil.”
“How will we get out?” asked one of the women.
“The most probable outcome is that if you follow me out there, you’ll die. If you remain here, they may keep you in your positions, or they might lock you all up,” Dorian answered honestly. “They might also kill you, or even torture you for information.”
“Will we even do any good if we follow you? We’re no match for even a few soldiers,” the maid suggested.
Dorian wanted to run. Deep down his heart screamed at him. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t the sort of thing a knight, any knight, should ever ask of the people they should be protecting. “If I go out alone it will be less effective. A few people beside me will create a bigger impact, even if you contribute almost nothing to the fight.” He looked down, ashamed. “You will be selling your lives for nothing more than the slight chance of improving the Princess and Lady Thornbear’s chances of escape.”
The maid lifted her chin and raised the large carving knife in her hand, “Then I will join you, Sir Dorian. I have no children, and I would rather die a good death than risk rape and torture at their hands.” Her hands shook, but her eyes were clear.
No, please, said Dorian’s inner voice, but his mouth responded according to his duty, “Then I will gladly fight beside you. From this day, from this moment, for however long we both shall live, I will call you my sister.” Tears were rolling down his cheeks.
Many of the remaining servants made a similar choice, but five or six chose to remain. “I have a family, Sir Dorian,” said one of the manservants. “If there’s any chance I can survive to take care of them, I have to take it.” Two of the laundresses and a few of the kitchen staff nodded their heads in agreement. Once they had sorted themselves out, it appeared there would be eight following him out the door, five men and three women.
Those who had decided to stay would return to their places, in hopes of avoiding being associated with the Princess’ group, but before they left one of the women caught Dorian’s hand. “If I live through this, Sir, I will tell the tale to my children and grandchildren. No one will forget you,” she said before kissing him on the cheek.
“Don’t remember me. Remember them,” he said, pointing at the ones who would follow him. “They have no reason to do this. I have spent my life staining my soul with other men’s blood, but they do this for no reason other than protecting their princess.” He paused then before adding, “If you would say anything, if I don’t survive—tell my wife and children that I love them. Ask them to forgive me for my absence.”
Ariadne spoke then, “You will live to fight on, Dorian.” She stopped, fearful of losing her calm. Raising her head she told the others, “I need your names. When this is over, I will see to it that your families are not forgotten.”
She had no paper, but she listened and repeated them to herself. Ariadne had an excellent memory, and she wasn’t the only one making mental notes.
The yard was full of men when they opened the doors. Dorian stepped out cautiously at first, as though he and the eight who followed him sought to avoid attention. A number of heads turned in their direction, but the enemy was slow to react—until Ariadne’s small group charged out after them. Things sped up quickly after that.
The enemy officers were shouting at their men, urging them to cut off the ‘escaping’ supporters of the princess. Soldiers turned, and several groups rushed toward Dorian and his comrades.
Once the alarm had gone up, Dorian’s small crew charged forward. It was a gesture of ridiculous defiance, a small group of nine rushing forward to attack the hundreds arrayed before them, but their purpose was fulfilled. Ariadne and her fellow ‘soldiers’ were lost within the press of mercenaries that closed around them.
At first Dorian fought to protect those who had followed him, but it was a hopeless cause. His allies were lost within the first half a minute, swept away and cut down. Even Dorian might have been overwhelmed, but for his enchanted sword. Its blade cut through swords and shields alike, creating a deadly swath of destruction around him. The fight paused as the men around him drew back, pushing against those behind them to avoid his cuts.
In the space of that moment, a silence appeared, to be filled by Andrew Tremont’s voice, rising above the mercenaries. “Lay down your sword, Sir Knight. Can you not see the futility of your actions here?” he shouted. “Surrender now and I will offer you mercy.”
Dorian Thornbear’s sanity had been left at the door, when he emerged. “Tremont!” he shouted in response. “I am coming for you, and I will not rest ‘til you have been treated to the King’s justice!”
Tremont laughed, still unable to see the face of the man threatening him, but a few of those around Dorian recognized his face, and a murmur of ‘Thornbear’ passed through the crowd. Many continued to back away as the Knight of Stone resumed his progress, walking slowly forward.
“Kill the fool!” commanded the duke, and those who still retained their will to fight pushed forward past their reluctant fellows. They surged in toward Dorian.
Their concerted effort threatened to overwhelm him, and Dorian felt a stabbing thrust break through the chain protecting his back as his forward motion slowed. It was a small wound, hardly felt through the haze of adrenaline but his instincts told him that if he couldn’t break free of the press, he would soon be dead.
Desperate, he did the one thing that he and Cyhan had repeatedly cautioned Penny never to do. Bending his knees he leapt, using his strength to drive his heavy body up and over those striving to stop him. He soared, ten feet up and fifteen forward, landing behind those who had faced him and among those who were unprepared. His sudden change of position created alarm and confusion as his new opponents struggled to move away from him.
He never gave them the chance. Having regained the initiative, he rushed forward, hacking and hewing before they could regain their organization. Dorian Thornbear roared, more demon than man in his heart now. Cutting and killing, he drove himself in the direction that he had heard Andrew Tremont’s voice.
Men cried out in fear, and panic took root in the hearts of Tremont’s followers. Those with quick reflexes got out of his way, while Dorian’s sword cut down those too slow to escape. A path opened before him, as those between him and his goal tried to flee. Andrew Tremont stood alone, abandoned by his bodyguards, some fifty feet ahead.
Dorian snarled, a dreadful smile on his face, as he spotted his quarry. Nothing could stop him now. His legs drove him forward with lethal momentum as the Duke of Tremont watched him with terror stricken eyes.
Andrew Tremont would have died then, but halfway to his goal Dorian was blindsided. Something fast and impossibly huge slammed into him from the right, and only his reflexes and a quick glimpse of motion in his peripheral vision saved him. Twisting, he narrowly avoided the thrust of a massive spike as the creature that he had seen earlier attacked. He couldn’t avoid the momentum of its main body however, and he found himself driven hard into the ground as it struck him.
His helmet was lost when he fell, and he attempted to roll before his new foe could pin him, but another of those strange arms caught his leg. In a split second of clarity, he saw that the spike that had nearly impaled him earlier was not a separate weapon but a feature of one of the creature’s arms. The thing was a nightmare of odd proportions. Two arms ended in crushing pincers while the other two were
covered in a variety of spikes.
Unable to rise, he barely intercepted another attack with his sword as the thing tried to remove his head with one of its heavy claws. The edge bit deeply into the armor-like skin of the monster rather than passing cleanly through, surprising Dorian further. Few things resisted the enchanted blades Mordecai had created. It was almost as though the beast was made of solid iron, but it moved far too fast for that.
His sword remained stuck in the thing’s arm, but the veteran knight used that to his advantage, as it drew the wounded limb back he held on tightly. The momentum jerked him upward and as his body flew skyward he pivoted, twisting around the sword hilt to land on the monster’s back. Unable to free his weapon he released it and instead caught the creature’s small head with both arms, wrapping it in a tight grip.
It shook vigorously, trying to throw him off to no avail, for his grip was like a steel vise. Dorian had hoped he might have a moment’s respite, but the thing’s arms had a greater freedom of motion than he had expected. They twisted and reached for him as the beast switched tactics.
He wasn’t simply holding his place, though. Dorian’s corded neck bulged as he pulled, straining to tear the creature’s head from its torso. It was just as resilient as the arm had been. Why won’t this damn thing budge? he thought as it resisted his attempt to kill it. For a moment he considered abandoning his position, but then he would be left with no weapon and few options. Instead he redoubled his efforts. His hair, now without a helm to cover it, went white, and his skin turned an ashen grey as he strained.
The torturous moment stretched out, and time slowed down as at last he felt something give way. A scream of triumph erupted from his lips as the hard wooden flesh broke and tore under his hands, and the head ripped completely free from the monster’s shoulders. The massive form beneath him shuddered and collapsed.
Dorian rode the body down, rolling when it reached the packed earth of the castle courtyard. Rising to his feet he could feel the strength of his body surging with the deep drumbeat of the earth. Adrenaline and rage were all he could feel now, and staring at the enemy soldiers standing in dumb amazement around him he screamed his defiance, “Who is next?!”
No one moved at first, and when they did it was to backpedal away from the enraged warrior. Dorian Thornbear’s face was completely grey now, causing him to look as if he had been cast from stone. He smiled at them with granite teeth and a berserker’s madness in his eyes.
“You are, human,” said a dry voice as he was struck from behind by something with the force of a battering ram.
The lone knight was thrown through the air, sailing thirty feet, to slam into the wall that protected the palace courtyard. The stones cracked at his impact, and his body slid to the ground, but it did not stay there.
Impossibly, the Knight of Stone rose, dusting the dirt and gravel from his armor. “You should have died when you had the chance,” he rumbled with a voice that sounded as if it were produced by rocks being ground together.
Most of the soldiers had retreated to either the walls or the palace by now, leaving the courtyard mostly empty. The gate had been shut and the portcullises were down, but it was with some relief that Dorian saw no sign of Ariadne or his mother as he started forward; with any luck they were already outside and making their way to safety. Whatever I accomplish now will serve mainly to delay Tremont from turning his attention to finding the missing princess.
Dorian’s sword was still embedded in the creature’s arm as they drew closer together, circling warily. The lack of a head didn’t seem to impede the monster’s ability to sense his position, but it moved carefully, having gained some respect for the warrior’s dangerous strength.
They jockeyed back and forth for half a minute until finally the beast took a chance, rushing forward and trying to catch him with its claws. Dorian was too quick however, and he ducked low and slid, coming up underneath his opponent. Using his shoulder and both arms he lifted the half-ton monster and thrust it skyward.
It fell awkwardly, landing on its side several feet away. Dorian had hoped the impact might dislodge his sword, but his luck wasn’t that good. Moving in, he tried to get his hand on the hilt but the beast recovered too quickly, nearly removing his head with one of its heavy pincers.
He caught that arm halfway along what would have been a human’s forearm, holding it at bay as he grabbed again for his sword. Missing his mark, they wound up in a stalemate of sorts, Dorian held both of the pincered arms at their midpoint, and the two of them strained and struggled, matching strength against strength. While the beast was incredibly strong, the knight seemed to have some advantage, except for one fact. His opponent had two more arms than he did, and these were covered in vicious spikes.
Even as he concentrated, forcing the two clawed arms apart and away from his body, the other two arms whipped forward and across, ripping into the armor covering his chest and belly, shredding chainmail almost as easily as leather. Pain shot through him as the spikes tore into his stomach. It had to happen sooner or later, said the voice in the back of his mind, but the rest of him ignored it.
Roaring in pain and defiance, Dorian Thornbear put one boot on the monster’s chest and pushed it downward while his powerful shoulders tensed. The beast screamed as the knight ripped the two arms from their sockets. The other two struck him again, knocking him sideways, but he was up again and tearing at the creature before it could recover. Dorian knew he had to finish it before his own strength failed him.
Forgetting his sword, he wrestled with the thing, pulling its two remaining arms loose before starting on the legs. Like a mad child he tore it apart, one limb at a time, until all that remained was a twitching torso. Unable to do much to it with his hands alone, he took a moment to retrieve his sword from the arm it was still lodged in. Using it, he cut each arm and leg into at least three pieces and then he proceeded to hack the torso itself into two parts, although it took some time. The creature’s body was so tough that cutting it apart was as difficult as cutting a normal tree trunk into two parts—using a normal sword.
When he finished he surveyed the courtyard, leaning on his sword casually, as though it were a cane. It was largely empty, and those soldiers who did remain were scattered along the walls, watching him silently. Most of those held crossbows, cocked and pointed in his direction. His chainmail didn’t have a hope in hell of stopping one of those quarrels. He wondered at the fact of his continued breathing. I should be dead by now.
“What are you waiting for!?” he roared at the onlookers. “How many of you bastards do I have to kill before you put me out of my misery!?”
None of them answered, though one man dropped his crossbow and retreated into a wall tower.
“Answer me!!”
Several more men dropped their weapons, an action that Dorian couldn’t comprehend. Looking downward he examined his chest and belly, afraid to see what sort of wounds he had already sustained. My guts are probably hanging out for—what the hell?! He stared at his belly in amazement.
The chain and leather had been ripped apart, but his exposed stomach was intact, aside from some odd looking scratches in the grey skin. He slapped his belly with one hand, finding it hard and dry. The sensation was rather like banging two rocks together. As he looked down he saw a number of crossbow bolts littering the ground around him. Some were stuck in the soft earth, but others were broken, as if they had struck something hard. Something like me, he thought. I’ve started turning, just like Mort warned. I’m more stone than man now.
“Shit.”
Unable to think of anything better to do, Dorian walked across the empty yard until he found the metal cap that he had lost when the monster first charged into him. Dusting it off, he replaced it on his head. Dignity restored, he stared at the gatehouse and yelled, “If you aren’t going to kill me, then open the damn gate! Unless you want to surrender?”
He began walking toward the gatehouse. Both portcullises and the gate were ope
n long before he reached it.
Chapter 25
Albamarl looked different than I expected. Smoke rose from a variety of locations, and it was far more substantial than the usual smoke that would have been seen rising from chimneys and cook-fires. This was the sort of smoke you’d expect from burning buildings. The city appeared to be in the midst of a war.
Where do you want me to land? questioned Gareth.
A dozen locations flashed through my mind, but the most important stood head and shoulders above those. “The Illeniel house, I need to retrieve Lyralliantha.” I had intended to say, ‘check on my family’, but the geas compelling me was still in effect. My personal reasons aside, I simply couldn’t do anything else—not without a logical reason.
Moira spoke then, none of this makes sense. There was no sign of a war before we left.
I had no answer for that, although I had my suspicions. A familiar form was waiting for us as we landed in the street, and it was someone whom I hoped would have more information for us.
“You said you would meet me the next day, but it has been almost five,” complained Karenth as he approached us.
“Did you have something better to do?” I quipped. When he opened his mouth to reply I cut him off, “Don’t answer that. I’d rather hear about what’s been happening in our absence.”
“Duke Tremont has made a bid for the crown. What you see around you is the fruit born of a civil war,” answered Karenth.
The magic compelling me was impatient, I could feel it tugging me toward Lyra’s resting place. I have to find out what forces may be arrayed against me first, I reasoned internally, and I felt the compulsion ease. “Give me the details, but make it brief and succinct. I don’t have time to waste.”
“His poisoner managed to render both the royal guard and Hightower’s men helpless. He slew both the King and Queen two days ago, but failed to eliminate their daughter. Your friend, Thornbear, helped her escape, and she rallied what was left of the city’s defenders to her cause. The fighting has been bloody and vicious. Tremont has a lot of mercenaries within the city, and he is supported by a substantial number of church troops,” explained the diminished god.