A Knight’s Charge
by
G.A. Whitfield
Smashwords Edition
A Knight’s Charge
Copyright © 2011 by G. A. Whitfield
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Disclaimer:
This work is 100% fiction. All scenes and events within these pages have been an invention of the author's imagination, and to his knowledge never occurred in reality. Any resemblance to the reader's own experiences is purely coincidental. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A Knight’s Charge
Prologue
Dawn breaks clear on shining dew,
We are not many, the chosen few,
In burnished silver and tarnished gold,
Banners flare, they swirl, unfold.
Horses stamp, their breath on fire,
Upon their backs the men aspire,
To fight, to die, to live once more
Here amongst the battle’s roar.
The blare of trumpets leads them on,
Steeds quicken, shake, begin to run,
Down from the heights, they race ahead,
To strike the ranks of yet undead
A clash of steel, a martyr’s cry,
No-one to yield, yet all to die,
Brave souls in front, none left behind,
A clarion call, to heart and mind.
And now it’s done, we are no more,
Our bodies lie upon the floor,
In blood, for honour, we paid the price,
Look well upon our sacrifice.
Pain; overwhelming, bowel-loosening agony. That was the sum total of my world. I could see the intricately and ritualistic scarred face leering down at me. His hand, I could not see, but I could feel it, as the barbarian twisted his blade deep into my thigh. Thankfully, the rust and blood-smeared metal was hidden from sight between the overlapping plates of my armour. It was a small mercy, but it was about all I could hold on to.
A warm breath wafted weakly against my face, as I turned away from my hated enemy. It was the dying benediction of my faithful steed, who had so gloriously carried me to my final moments. We had been many; strong, proud and unbeatable. Knee-to-knee we charged gloriously down upon the unwashed bodies below us. Our lances drank thirstily from the rotting bodies, slipping easily through their poor defences and casting them aside.
Shining banners and blaring trumpets urged us on. Rank upon rank fell before us, yet they were limitless. We slowed, yet battled bravely. Stopped, we clove skulls and smashed bone. Dark blood dripped endlessly before us, yet we were to fail. A traitor had delivered us to an ignomious death and even now I could hear him; his whining voice, the insipid laughter and the answering gutturals of the unshriven.
It was true then; the undead had woken and walked amongst the weak, the self-serving and the unprotected. As Knights we had sworn a terrible oath, but as humans we had failed. Now, there would be no-one to hold the line, to strike down the enemy with righteous prayers and strong arms. Beyond this field of the fallen, lay an innocent and soon to be sullied populace and our sacrifice would be for nought.
I can hear in my mind my father’s voice, berating me for my cowardice, my rendition. My life should not be sold this cheaply. Anger coursed through me, stirring my limbs. I snarled, my right hand snapping out to grip the cursed one’s wrist. His grunt of surprise was followed by a squeal of pain, as my gauntleted hand squeezed, crushing and grinding bone. With a wrench I pulled clear his rusted blade. I could see it now, wet with my own life’s blood. One twist and it faced towards him, the movement pulling him off-balance.
He fell. His sweat-steeped body crashed down upon me, the weight causing me to roar in answer to my body’s protest. I was satisfied though. I had felt the metal slip into his putrid chest and with the last reserve of my strength had twisted and sawed. Blood had been my reward, that and the onrushing darkness of oblivion.
Temple Mount
New Sevilla
Vincent Kombel looked up from the scroll he was reading and stared into the wan light of early evening. It was incredible that such as this survived. They had broken into the crypt as part of the authorised study of the Temple ruins, yet never expected such a find. The ceramic urns were hidden beneath the dry bones of what appeared to be three separate people. One, at least, was not human.
Cracking open the seal at the top of the smallest of the receptacles, Vincent found the poem and below it in a spidery scrawl, what seemed the ramblings of a madman. He would have dismissed it out of hand, if it had not been for the crest etched into the surface of the coffin lid and crudely wrought into the bottom left of the scroll. It was that of his family, or at least of what his family had been.
None but Vincent knew of the crest. It was from a different time and a deadly disgrace. He looked guiltily around to see if anyone was watching, but the tomb was deserted. His Master left him in charge of the closing of the doors, whilst he hurried to avail himself of a fine meal and less than salubrious company.
Good. Vincent needed no witnesses. He retrieved his satchel and stuffed the urns within. Closing the drawstring neck, he swung it over his shoulder and carefully placed the folded scroll inside the pocket of his jacket. With a last look around to see if he had missed anything, he switched off his light and left, the door’s muffled crash as it swung together startling him momentarily.
*****
The door did not close fully. A crack of light played across the half-open coffin. Dust began to swirl madly, as though in response to the passage of a wayward breeze. There was no wind. Motes attempted to coalesce into a thin spiral. Ever more rapidly they span, an accusing finger pointing out towards the disappearing scholar.
Inside the tomb, the temperature dropped, ice forming on the stone. It spread in a crazed pattern from the coffin, spearing towards the back wall and a half-hidden mosaic. A sharp crack signalled the shattering of the faded picture into a thousand pieces. Then there was nothing but the moaning; the sound of a non-existent wind, which drew ever closer.
Chapter One
Chavez City
New Sevilla
Evening on New Sevilla came abruptly. Dusk was but a moment and then darkness crashed in. Automatic lighting could not respond quickly enough to banish the deep blackness and it always left its indelible mark on Vincent. He was close to the city, yet had still to traverse the brush-strewn footpath leading from the dig site.
His heart thumped wildly. He could never lose the primal fear that something awful had happened and the world would stay plunged in the stygian blackness. Again though, as in all of his twenty-five years living in and around the teeming habitats, he was mistaken. Lights sparked and drove away the nameless nightmares and he continued in his journey.
The main gate was open and a pair of soldiers stood idly by their guardhouse. One passed a smoke to another; there was a flare of red flame and normality resumed. He nodded to them as he passed. They ignored him. All was as it should be.
Three turns later and he was close to his lodgings. Master Sextus would no doubt still be availing himself of the delights of the nearby tavern and so Vincent would have time to safely hide away his guilty secret. It was as he keyed the lock that a shiver ran down his spine, causing him to fumble the combination and bring the discordant note of a failed entry. He cursed, settled the satchel on his shoulder and re-entered the code successfully.
Sweat beaded his brow in response to the nameless dread which once again gripped him. The door could not close fast enough and he scurried to his room. It was not until he was safely inside, with every single light shining brightly, that he breathed a sigh of relief.
*****
Sextus knew of Vincent’s family history. At least in part, that is. The young man’s mother had been a famous courtesan who had fallen on hard times, when the Planetary Governor had discarded her. The lecherous old man had arranged a deal; Victor would receive the best of education as long as his mother kept the Master happy.
This had worked very well for the first few years, until the woman had contracted a fever and died. By then, Sextus had found that Vincent was indeed a bright and ready pupil. He could see in him the means to continue with the style of living he was accustomed to and the continued favour of the Governor. Of course, Vincent knew nothing of the old man’s duplicity and gladly accepted his role.
What none of them knew was the identity of Vincent’s father. Some suspected that it may have been the Governor himself. Vincent knew, as had his mother, and she had taken that secret to the grave with her.
His father, who he had been named for, was a young officer from Wose IV. A world little-liked within the Protectorate and definitely avoided. There were stories. Yet the stories told were held in contempt; fairy tales for the young and gullible. Time had muddied fact and as Wose IV was far off the beaten track, it was dismissed by rational and thinking men.
As if that were not enough, Vincent’s genetic heritage had a dual past, one which had been deliberately undermined and ignored. Here in New Sevilla, history was a secret jealously guarded by the powerful. A sad past from another world, carried in the hold of a refugee ship, had been rewritten into a tale of heroism and faith. Vincent held, within his grasp, a startling piece of history, and one whose dissemination he meant to control.
*****
The muffled thud of heavy guns woke Vincent. He scrambled out of bed and drew open the shutters; the sound augmented. Muzzle flashes flared intermittently, yet the darkness was well and truly banished. There was nothing to be seen apart from the Church Force’s response. No drop pods or alien craft flitted over the city, yet something had to be there.
Nearby auto rifles began to crackle, the narrow alleyways catching and warping the sound. Shouts heralded the arrival of soldiers, who ran from danger, firing wildly. There was nothing there.
Then the first returning rounds hit the pleasure quarter, showering the surrounding area with wood, brick and body parts. Faster and faster they struck, their pounding a deadly metronome. No troops assailed the city walls, so what were the soldier’s running from?
“Vin-ce-e-e-nt!”
The voice was cold, harsh. It seemed to be all around him, but his mad search could find nothing.
“Vin-ce-e-e-nt!”
Although in a whisper, it cut into his brain. It was insistent, a dirty violation. He ignored it, instead straining to watch for invading troops.
“To-o-o La-a-te!”
It was the last he heard as a heavy object smashed into the back of his head, of that he was sure.
*****
Master Sextus was paying for his lifetime of debauchery; running was not an option. Neither his weak heart, nor his atrophied muscles could respond to the adrenalin pumping through his veins. It was a condition induced by the horrid apparition which had just fallen from the night sky. Sextus had recently done the same thing, tumbling from a lady’s bed after a sumptuous meal and copious quantities of alcohol.
The ceiling and part of the floor had crumbled away; the result of a shell’s explosion. He followed the wall as it slid out onto the street and arrived just in time to see the monster’s appearance. Its cloven feet crushed the ornate paving in front of the tavern and the rifle in its hands was speaking even before its owner had touched down properly.
Sextus’ large bulk initially saved him from death, but now the thing had him cornered and he fell whimpering to the ground.
“Where is your Prelate now?” it hissed through filed teeth at Master Sextus. He neither knew nor cared and was still protesting when the explosive round blew him into his next incarnation.
Temple Mount
New Sevilla
The thudding was still there when Vincent woke, but this time it was accompanied by a sharp pain as his head struck the floor. He was being carried, rather carelessly, but still transported by another creature.
His struggles went unanswered until he started to shout. His captor swung him up into the air and then dropped him to the packed earth. Vincent recognised this trail, it led to the Temple Ruins; he was going back. Seeing the full extent of his captor’s attire was almost impossible; a brown leather coat, grubby shirt and a sodden hat were all that was in his field of vision.
Bunched muscles waited for their moment, but as he exploded up from the floor, a meaty forearm slammed into his forehead and for the second time in quick succession, consciousness became impossible to hold on to.
*****
A beam of light speared the darkness, motes of dust dancing in its enfolding embrace. The sound of clicking and scraping could be heard distinctly, and it was this which woke Vincent. He tasted blood on his lips and he hawked and spat to clear the dryness at the back of his throat.
“Ah,” the voice was artificial, wheezing, “you are awake at last.”
“Wh-who are you?” even to Vincent the words sounded weak and childish, as though he lived still within a strange nightmare.
“A friend,” was the curt reply, “someone who has just saved your life.”
As he tried to rise, pain thumped in his head, forcing Vincent to clutch at his temple.
“Some friend,” he snapped, “what did you hit me with?”
“My good arm,” laughed his captor, “be thankful.”
The man moved into the light. He had discarded his hat and coat. Vincent gasped at the face before him; a mass of intertwined scars criss-crossed the bald pate and scrolled like crazy-paving around his eye sockets and along his jaw line. Eyes were non-existent, replaced by mechanical augmentation which whirred in and out as he focused on Vincent where he lay. One arm looked normal, the other betrayed its bionic nature, ending as it did in a snapping claw. From his shoulders rose twin appendages which writhed absently as he moved. Vincent could not see his feet, but had no doubt of what he would find.
“You’re not human!” It was out before he could stop it, and he flushed with shame at his lapse.
“Was, and in a way I suppose I still am,” replied the man in front of him, moving back into the darkness, and then almost casually, “I knew your father.”
Shock smashed Vincent awake, “How?” he gasped.
“We worked together and I made him a promise, and Lector keeps his promises.”
Instead of asking one of the many questions bouncing in his head, all that Vincent could ask was, “Your name is Lector?”
“That it is,” the man-machine replied, tapping his metallic claw on the lid of the nearby open coffin, “and I’m afraid I arrived too late.”
Chavez City
New Sevilla
The city was burning. Not the casual by-blow of errant missile strikes, but the studied conflagration of an arsonist. Flames fanned out in a well planned pattern, new hot spots springing up with explosive frequency. One man stood on the highest building and watched the destruction greedily. This was war. His favourite pastime.
A noise behind startled him, surprise the strongest of his emotions. It was unusual that any could get so close to one such as he unnoticed. He spun quickly, his dark blade keening hungrily. Before him, clinging to the wavering shadows was a slight man, shrouded in coarse cloth. It hung from an emaciated body, topped by a wrinkled face. One or two white strands of hair were plastered to the old face and now Kayn laughed in derision.
Enhanced muscles pushed him forward, his blade flashing out. Kayn was brought up short by a massive blow to his stomach. Looking down he saw the old man’s hand where it was buried into his armour. Again he struck, but his arm was caught in an iron grip. Amazed he felt himself pulled forward towards the hideous visage.
There was the roar of a pistol and the thing was smashed away, landing cat-like on all fours. It looked up once, dark pitiless eyes boring into him, before more fire drove it away, announcing the arrival of his men. It leapt out over the edge of the roof into the darkness, disappearing from his view. Kayn trembled with fear, he clearly had felt it enter his mind and he knew it would be back.
Chapter Two
Temple Mount
New Sevilla
“Was it you whispering sweet nothings in my ear earlier?”
Lector laughed, or that was what Vincent interpreted the strange sounds coming from his mouth to be.
“No, that was something else.”
“Don’t you mean someone…” asked Vincent, still a little fuzzy.
“You tell me,” replied Lector, “you woke it up.”
Vincent was about to deny the charge, but glancing at the coffin, he realised that it now really was empty. The bones had disappeared.
“That’s nothing more than a story,” he scoffed.
“Ah, you know something of your family history then?” and then not waiting for an answer, “So, you should know that there are things inexplicable by normal means, The Wildwose, for instance?”
Who was this Lector? A quick scan showed his clothes still in place, so no tell-tale signs were visible.
“Let me tell you a story,” continued Lector, “of a young officer, whose career took him right across the Universe. Whose duties included time with the Inspectorate, working at their right hand. Rebellion, we can discuss as well. How that man fled from persecution, once his true nature was discovered. Of a friend, who protected him and swore to do so for his family.”
“You’re a little late,” mumbled Vincent.
“No,” disagreed Lector, “I am perhaps, here at just the right moment. For you, at least.”
“What do you…”
Vincent’s question was never fully voiced, as he felt a cold touch on his mind. A hunger which made him shiver with fear and an awful longing. Pale white fingers grasped the half-open door and with a horrible screeching it gave way to the promised terror from without.
Chavez City
New Sevilla
Kayn had responded to his Master’s imperious call. His fear had been replaced with his usual arrogance, as he shoved deformed servants from his path. They were a necessary evil, but his disdain for them was palpable. Cannon-fodder. That was all they really were. He and his men were the true might of the Tauran Empire here.
“Kayn. My trembling sycophant. Do come in.”
The Tauran Elite winced. Akem knew. He should not have been surprised. Angry, he stomped into his Master’s presence.
“Tell me,” Akem said, his voice a discordant meld of the suffering souls he had bound to him, “what it was that made you whimper inside like a mewling babe.”
“I know not, Master,” Kayn knew it was pointless to deny his moment of weakness, “it looked inoffensive, but its eyes… evil lurks within that decrepit shell.”
“Evil?” Akem roared, “And what am I?”
“You, my Master,” said Kayn meekly, “are Chaos, Destruction and Dismay. This though, was something else. A bone-withering promise. Cold as death, yet burning. Oblivion would be no joyous torment. There was only an eternity of nothingness in its eyes.”
“My eloquent child,” sneered Akem, “Pain is something I too can offer.”
“Not like this…” began Kayn, but his Master’s hand struck him on the face, spinning him with awful force into a nearby wall. He saw the following blow, but did nothing to avoid it. Yes, he had sinned in his spoken word, but now Akem held no fear for him. Kayn had tasted of real terror and he just hoped that he was never called on to face it again.
Colon’s Moon
New Sevilla
Buried within a deep canyon on the dark side of New Sevilla’s second moon was a small, sleek ship. There were no indications of life to the external gaze, but in the control room sat a slight figure, wrapped within his robes of deep azure blue. He was studying a data sheet and trying hard to ignore the deliberate attempts to attract his attention.
At last with a sigh of molestation, he spoke.
“What?” he snapped at the hovering figure.
“We’ve found him.”
Interest sparked on the aquiline face and he stood quickly, “Tell me!”
“He was seen on New Sevilla, just before the invasion. Farlon lost him in the furore of the initial assault, but she assures me he can be found again. One other thing, he is not alone.”
“Prepare the shuttle. Tell your boys to check their weapons. Contact Farlon to arrange a secure landing site.”
Juan Mata nodded. The soldier spoke little. That was how his Lord liked it. Inspector Stefan Darling watched his hulking figure leave and smiled. Lector, my traitorous friend, he thought, I have you now!
Temple Mount
New Sevilla
One of Lector’s metallic arms lashed forward. A saw blade whirled madly at its end. There was a meaty thunk as it bit into the door, screeching and then an awful scream. The doors closed again, a dark smear all that remained of the pallid fingers.
“It’s gone now,” said Lector reassuringly.
“Are you sure?” Vincent asked, unable to rid himself of an awful feeling of premonition.
“As sure…”
The door slammed open. A blur of white passed through, knocking Lector back. He span and smashed into the coffin, dazed. Vincent looked into the dark pits that stopped before him. They were all-consuming. Soulless.
“Vi-i-nc-e-e-nt!”
Sibilant, it hissed at him. He backed further away. Lector struggled to his feet, eyes now blazing red.
“Leave him alone!” he shouted. It laughed.
“You are mine, kindred…”
Vincent recoiled. He could feel it, there was a link. His body rebelled. Shudders wracked his frame.
“Don’t fight it,” whispered the creature silkily, “it is no use.”
“It killed your father!” shouted Lector as he rushed to Vincent’s aid.
It span, leaping and striking. There was the shriek of metal as its claws slashed and again Lector crashed to the floor. That momentary break of contact, was enough. Genetics took over.
Vincent’s shaking became more pronounced. He tore at his shirt and trousers and now the creature took a step backward. Clutching his stomach in pain, Vincent doubled over. His neck stretched taut and he screamed before falling to his knees. Skin writhed, muscles stretched and bones popped. The Wildwose stood.
*****
Farlon drew heavily on her smoke stick. Her nerves had caused her to break her usually tight protocol. The Inspector was late.
She had followed Lector’s trail but had been unprepared for the thing that had in turn followed him. It was only now that she had moved slightly away from the shadows, her fear abating as it had smashed its way into the tomb.
As a city girl, one who ran with the drug gangs before the Inspector had picked her out, she feared little. Her sociopathic tendencies sat well with her role within Darling’s band. There was no-one capable of matching her tracking skills, particularly within the city’s limits. This, though, was different.
A heavy footfall announced Mata’s arrival and she grinned. The big Church Guard was capable of much, but silence was not one of his many skills.
“Here,” she whispered and she felt the Inspector’s touch on her arm as he joined them.
“Is he inside?” he asked excitedly.
“That he is, with a young man… and something else.”
Inspector Darling used his Night Vision Aid, then staggered.
“Juan!” he cried, “Destroy that building!”
There was a moment’s surprise before the big man started firing. Farlon joined in.
“No!” roared Darling, “I mean, totally!”
Juan dropped his autorifle and unslung his grenade launcher. He had never before seen the Inspector frightened, and it terrified him. Mata sent incendiary rounds screaming into the tomb in a continuous stream.
*****
Stone boiled beneath the intensity of the weapon. Those inside the tomb were oblivious to the destruction to its fabric. Two wild animals fought for domination and a mechanical man watched on in awe. Flesh shredded from bone in their feral savagery. First one was flung to crash against a wall which crumbled beneath the force of the impact. The second leapt across to slam into an empty space.
That which had been Vincent hooked its claws into the pale chest in front of him. Claws caught and held, drawing the thing close and fangs snapped to close on a bony forehead.
“You cannot kill me,” it laughed, even as Vincent crushed bone, “no-one can...”
The voice trailed away as wizened flesh and bone was ground into non-existence. Vincent raised his muzzle and howled. Outside the tomb, the Inspector fell to his knees and began to pray. Lector looked more closely at the once-human; he had heard of The Wildwose, and this was something else.
With a shudder, the boy returned and Lector grasped him roughly.
“We need to go,” he insisted, dragging him towards the rear of the chamber.
The boy resisted, “Why could none of you leave well enough alone?”
Lector looked closer; the pain in Vincent’s voice was raw, yet tinged with sadness.
“Even my father did not know it all. This is the tomb of my mother’s people, of their secret and undying shame. The Church hid the story in myth and excommunication, yet I knew it. That thing was a relative, one best left to sleep in endless torment. It wants me now and will not rest until it gets its own way.”
“And you?” Lector was unsure of the boy yet worried as stone crashed around them.
“I, am my father’s son and will fight. “
Chapter Three
Chavez City
New Sevilla
“There.”
Kayn leaned forward. The screen showed heavy activity and the thermal scanner was off the scale.
“What is it?”
“Someone is determined to wipe that area out. Those are incendiary rounds.”
“Get me my shuttle,” said Kayn, “I’m intrigued.”
Temple Mount
New Sevilla
“We need to go, right now!”
Lector watched Vincent as he vaulted the remains of the tomb, kicked his way through a plaster mosaic and dragged a cloth wrapped bundle clear.
“How did...?”
“My relative left an imprint. I knew that there was something there, something he didn’t want me to find.”
As he spoke, he unwrapped the parcel, the clink of metal obvious as he roughly pulled it open. With a crash a helmet bounced to the floor, whilst a red-stained blade remained in Victor’s hand. Both pieces were old, very old. The helm’s design was archaic, a strange whorled pattern etched across its front.
Vincent ignored the helm, twisting the broken weapon round to see it better. Lector screamed as the boy stabbed the metal into his thigh. An evil light burned for a moment in Vincent’s eyes as the man squirmed.
“You still bleed then?” He laughed as he dragged the weapon clear, smiling as Lector’s blood steamed away.
“Ah, yes-s-s,” he hissed, “just as I thought.”
With a grunt, Vincent bent to retrieve the helm, cramming it onto his head. Light flashed across its silvered surface and Lector took a step backwards. Something writhed beneath Victor’s skin, impatient to be released.
“What are you waiting for?”
Lector was pushed roughly towards the door, then shoved to one side as Vincent released his impatient beast.
*****
“Inspector!”
Farlon slapped her superior’s face, jerking him back to reality as the tomb’s entrance exploded apart. Something blurred outwards, highlighted by the flames which danced across the stone building. She raised her rifle and began firing, as a second body followed the first out.
Mata ignored his companions and dropped his grenade launcher, swinging his rifle from his shoulders.
“Give them...”
Auto cannon rounds hammered down, as the unheard shuttle made its presence felt.
Farlon hugged the earth, pride in her skills forgotten as the shuttle sprayed rounds in an indiscriminate fashion. She risked one eye, recognising the Tauran symbols emblazoned on the vehicle’s side, and screamed in agony as metal tore through her skin.
Kayn laughed in glorious abandonment; the thrill of destruction raged through his system, causing his blood to boil with the released energy. This was the only reason to live. Blood, Chaos and Death. He watched the Inspector and his minions struggle to find cover and took aim on the soldier writhing beneath him. It was just so easy.
*****
Lector’s hand shook. No metallic arm or automated system could compensate for the terror which gripped him. He had fought, and bested, Tauran Elite, demons and uncounted numbers of their soldiers, but this was different. Vincent Kombel was in no way human. His father had at least retained a semblance of humanity, struggling with the beast within all through his short life. Not so the son. Whatever meld of genetics slithered within Vincent, it was more closely linked to the demonic antecedents of the Taurans, than those of the Protectorate. Decision taken, he struck. Laughter and empty space were all that resulted from his traitorous attack.
“How easily loyalty disappears in the face of overwhelming might...”
The mechanical man span, searching for the disembodied voice.
“You should have waited to see the outcome...”
Brute force tossed Lector like a windblown seed in a gale, his hat fluttering insanely behind him as he smashed into a stunted tree. Groaning, he tried to stand but a clawed hand raised him on high, fingers intertwined in Lector’s mechanical appendages.
“As you seem to like them so much...”
He was wrenched back and thrown violently into the air, “...say hi for me!”
*****
Inspector Darling saw Lector on his collision course, but could not rejoice. He had seen what had impelled him skywards. There was no fluid left for his body to expel, so he huddled, shivering and waiting his fate.
“Farlon!”
It was a cry of surprise as he saw the soldier lurch to her feet, skin and cloth flapping. Autocannon rounds do not paint a pretty picture.
“Kindred...” she hissed and Darling saw Kombel appear once more.
“Ah, yes,” Vincent said, as he swung one hand, claws flashing.
The head which landed with a meaty thunk next to the Inspector still held life within its eyes, but such life that Darling lost himself to madness. With a cackle, Vincent picked up the woman’s head and threw it violently at Kayn striking him full in the face.
“Tell your Master that I’m coming,” he roared, “it is time for a reckoning!”
Chapter Four
Chavez City
New Sevilla
Akem felt the terror of his disciple and wondered. Kayn was his best creation, ruthless and unforgiving. Doubt of Kayn’s inherent cruelty never crossed his mind, yet his hunting beast trembled. Something interfered with his control and Akem did an unusual thing, he entered the battlefield himself. He had no need for mechanical conveyance, instead holding onto Kayn’s mental signature as he opened the portal, using the distinctive mind of his minion to drag himself into the fray, appearing in the air close to the shuttle. He spread his wings, hovering by the shuttle and glaring in anger at the scene below.
Laughter pealed, clashing with destruction of the building and the eviscerated corpses. Inspector Darling’s mindless wailing excited him for a moment, until he tasted that which awaited him. Angry, he pulled the sword from the sheath by his side, its serrated blade keening in anticipation. Akem was old, steeped in evil and disdainful of his foes. With a scream he folded his wings and plummeted towards the barely visible shape of the creature below.
Temple Mount
New Sevilla
Vincent felt the portal close, smiling as he understood instantly how the rift had been created and wondering why he had never thought of doing the same thing himself. Darkness enfolded him, blurring his outline and causing his foe to back-wing in consternation. Giggling to himself, Vincent leapt, hooking one clawed hand into a wing membrane and pulling the demon towards him. He hit the ground hard, slamming Akem into the earth before him and dropped one knee onto the demon’s chest.
“Ah, yes,” he said to himself, “at last a worthy foe.”
“No!” screamed Akem, writhing in agony beneath the overwhelming weight pinioning him to the churned earth.
“Yes,” hissed Kombel, “it has been so long...”
Kayn heard the words, his hands trembling on the handle of the autocannon. The voice called to him, demanding obedience and he answered. He left the shuttle as it landed, crawling on all fours towards his new Master. Vincent did not bother to acknowledge him, instead revelling in the pain of his victim.
Unnoticed, Darling crawled away. His visit to this planet had been to deliver the Protectorate’s vengeance to a heretical soul, one who had cast insult upon the very belief which underpinned the Church. Instead he had been party to the awakening of an ancient evil, and almost lost his very own soul.
“Aagh!”
The Inspector screamed as pain coursed through his body. He span, struggling to avoid the nerve wrenching agony, but only succeeded in causing white hot fire to lance through his nerves.
“Dear Inspector,” said Vincent, “please don’t leave before I have finished.”
Darling gagged as he saw his own blood seeping through his clothes, pooling beneath his outstretched legs. Looking up, he stared deep into the cold abyss of Vincent’s eyes.
“Take a message to your Masters,” Vincent chided, “let them know that my family’s suffering is over and their’s only just beginning.”
A rush of cold air, dank and foetid as that of the grave caused him to shudder and his screams joined those of Akem’s as Vincent Kombel strode away. Behind him followed his new minion, bowing and scraping in sheer terror. Kayn had been right, the exquisite pain visited upon him by Akem was as nothing compared to the bowel-loosening agony radiating from the monster that was Vincent Kombel. The beast had been woken, now all would pay.
END
Englishman, traveller, who was captivated by Spain and stayed. Proud husband and father. Work took me around the globe, taught me a new language and opened my eyes.
Other Works:
The Wildwose
The Gift
Sudden Dearth
A Guiding Light (Sudden Dearth Book Two)
A Leap Of Faith (Sudden Dearth Book Three)
Urion’s Belt
A Cold Dish
Euthan Palace
26-S
SALIGIA
Find out more by visiting www.sudderndearth.blogspot.com