Belial - Episode 1 of the Elder Bornshire Chronicles Page 9

  Without further discussion, they mounted their armored horses, gathered the reins of the two riderless mares and rode toward Ploor.

  Stars sprinkled the cobalt sky. Fresh night air swept through the pass, but the stench of smoke, blood and charred flesh clung to the ground as though it might reside permanently.

  Drile’s house sighed its final embers. Only smoke drifted off the jagged and burnt remains.

  Adam’s eyelids fluttered. He groaned and turned his aching head. He had fallen backward with his bow still in his hand, the arrow lying on the ground next to him. He rose first to an elbow, and then sat up when the dizziness wandered. His skull throbbed. He reached up tentatively and touched the knot on his forehead. With his eyes, he surveyed the area, trying to gather his cloudy thoughts. He had gotten up early to go hunting—

  His vaporous memory congealed on the smoking remnants of his father’s house. He climbed to his feet with his bow in his hand, picked up the wayward arrow and staggered the short distance. The scene and the previous night’s events bound together in his rattled brain.

  The first man he had shot died the moment the arrow struck him. At least that was Adam’s assessment as he examined him. He hoped not though, for the man’s face and head were scorched to the bone. Adam wished that the man felt every flicker of that fire. The arrow’s shaft had succumbed to the flame, but the arrowhead lay just inside the ashen border of the wall. Adam retrieved the article and dropped it into a small pouch on his belt.

  In the ashes, he saw the charred remains of his mother and father. He tried not to openly weep, but the abortion of justice swept him and tears streamed down his cheeks.

  I am alone.

  With that thought, he succumbed, went to his knee and let the agony out in a primal wail and then uncontrolled tears. The world drifted away from him, as he collapsed in a pool of grief.

  He did not hear the approaching horses or intrusion until a large and strong hand reached around and hauled him backward off his feet. Adam could not wrestle free from his captor. The man’s arms held him like chains.

  Had the brigands returned?

  “I will not hurt you,” the rough and worldly voice whispered, but a thread of kindness intertwined the tone. The grip withdrew and Adam sprang back, still expecting to see one of the assailants. He brought up his bow and his hand went to his quiver, but froze there by the palpable presence of the warrior before him.

  The man before him was tall. A leather thong secured his groomed and long black hair. His fire rock beard had been neatly trimmed with a splash of gray. A scar traced his left cheek, but his gray eyes did not induce fear.

  Behind him stood a horse unlike any that Adam had ever seen. The equine could have been carved from black onyx. If it had been carved, aggression most certainly had been the chisel and battle the hammer.

  On a gray horse, nearly as large, sat a woman in armor, the first Adam had ever seen. She had sunset hair and her eyes expressed an abiding concern. Both man and woman wore swords and carried multiple knives on their belts.

  “Who are you,” the man asked. He was not so tall he needed to kneel, but the man spoke to Adam as an equal rather than down to him as adults tended.

  “Adam,” he replied. “My name is Adam.”

  “I am Arthur Bornshire. This is my wife, Shanay. What happened here?”

  Adam tossed around a thought of remaining silent, but with two corpses lying outside the burn and his parents cooked within the walls, he saw no reason to stay his tongue. Maybe the gods had happened by at the right time. If these individuals proclaimed themselves gods, he felt obliged to believe them. They, however, did not. Thus, Adam recounted the events.

  When he finished, Arthur said, “Wait here.”

  The large man examined the site carefully, inspecting each body, or what remained, and then looking briefly across the ashen border of what had been the house.

  He called Shanay to his side. Kneeling to scrutinize the neck of the decapitated man, he asked, “Have you seen this mark before?”

  She shook her head and glanced at Adam. “Have you?”

  When Adam said he had not, Arthur considered for a bit, then remarked, “I am surprised this fire did not spread.” Adam nodded, but had nothing to add. “Is that your bow?”

  “It is.”

  Arthur came to him and examined the artistry. “Your father make this?”

  “I made the bow and the arrows, but he taught me how. Before I was born, he was an archer in the Legion,” Adam said, though he lifted no pride into his reply.

  Arthur nodded. “Did you shoot these men?”

  “Those two. One threw my mother into the fire while she still lived. She screamed until she died. I suppose the others killed my father.” He raised his hand and touched the knot, flinched and removed his fingers from the place continuing, “Before I could fire a third arrow, something struck me. I suppose they threw it from a distance. It may be over there by that bush.”

  He pointed, and Arthur nodded direction to Shanay. She walked in that direction, looked around in the grass and then called, “It is here.”

  She held up a thick, weighted stick. Arthur scratched the back of his head, perplexed. “An odd weapon.”

  “I did not cut that man’s head off,” Adam said, anxious to be done with discussion. “I shot him. That is all. I don’t know how he came to be—like that.”

  “That is fine.” Looking around a final time, Arthur said, “You cannot stay here. Winter will arrive soon. Seems evident a murdering crew of killers has entered the mountains. Come with us. We will get you to safety. That will give you time to remember anything else you wish to tell us.” Adam frowned deeply, his face an illustration of his dilemma. Arthur continued, “Don’t deny me, for I have no time for that. We can ill afford to let time slip by. Come, sit up beside me.”

  Arthur walked toward Blade and said back over his shoulder, “Watch the horse. He can be a cantankerous bastard. To Blade he commented, “Behave yourself.”

  Adam did as he was told and Blade did not try to bite the boy as he walked plenty close enough to do so. Without looking back, they continued on to Ploor.

  The three of them rode through the darkness, the stars lighting up the night even though the moon hesitated to make itself known. Adam held onto Arthur, feeling a precarious balance on the horse.

  “How many men came to your home, Adam?” Arthur asked.

  Adam considered, thinking back. “Maybe a dozen. It happened so fast. When they hit me with that thing, I suppose that they thought me dead.”

  “Or of no use,” Shanay added with an eye to Arthur. He shrugged in reply.

  Adam continued, “When I woke, I—I had just—you know.”

  Arthur nodded his head, glanced sideways at Shanay and replied, “Do you know why they came? Did they say?”

  “I was not there when they started, but they were looking for someone. My father did not know who they sought, but they believed that he did.”

  “He did know,” Arthur replied. “Your father and mother were brave, Adam. Never forget that or them. We owe them a tremendous debt.”

  Adam did not understand and said so.

  This time Shanay led the conversation and Arthur seemed willing to let her. Her voice soothed Adam’s tension, the silkiness and strength of a woman who looked like a warrior goddess. “We believe they were searching for us. We live not far, though you would be hard pressed to find our residence. Your father knew Arthur. We shared provisions with him in your first winter. We are on our way to Ploor. We will find these men. After we deal with them, we will discuss your future.”

  Adam did not understand the full meaning behind what she said. He knew little about Ploor other than the city had a harbor and was known for both its commerce and outbreaks of violence. His father had never traveled there as far as Adam knew, but he had learned at a younger age that most of his father’s past remained shadowed.

  Several hours into their ride, the three reached the main
road. Intimidation incarnated, four mounted men blocked the middle of the road. They wore overlarge helmets adorned with gargoyles, sharp edges and hieroglyphs. They had long swords, carried lances—everything about them reeked of death, including their horses.

  One horse was pale as an ash tree. The next was red as a burning ember. It had pitch black eyes where stars shined like a pool of melted wax around a black candle. The third horse stood taller than the rest, but wormy creatures slithered under the rotting flesh, infested it. The last horse was as black as Blade and on its armor was engraved a set of scales. The rider’s face looked more a skeleton than flesh. Adam tried his best to hide behind Arthur.

  “Fear not,” Arthur said. “Hold onto my arm. Get down.”

  Adam did as Arthur said and Arthur dismounted. He led Adam toward Shanay and said to them both, “Wait here.”

  Arthur approached the Horsemen. Thanatos stood in the forefront, though none of them seemed particularly in the lead. Arthur mentally reviewed the other three.

  Mars, the manifestation of war. While Arthur served Rome’s military, he had been Arthur’s patron. They never discussed the fact that Arthur had never bowed to him, or that the savagery he put upon Arthur had nearly demonized him. Arthur had brought enough commerce to Mars’ door he might never have complaint.

  Pestilence, who had intervened in Arthur’s life more than once, but mostly for the good. For all of his appearance, he moved in his own way and time.

  The last rider Famine—the least spoken. Arthur had heard him remark once that starvation of the soul could be worse than starvation of the body. He had not forgotten that, but Arthur had seen the Horseman whither soldiers in battle.

  Thanatos dismounted and met Arthur halfway between the two parties.

  Arthur joined, “Have you come to bring us to war?”

  “I bring news. That is all.”

  “Then I will have it.”

  “First, we offer condolences concerning your father. He was a good man.”

  “I am sure he had few regrets and a serene departure.”

  Thanatos shifted his feet. “I am afraid not. He died in battle in Britannia.”

  Arthur frowned deeply. His mother, Joanie and Octavus still resided in Britannia. Was this a hint?

  “His opponent?”

  “He left with his life. Your father did not make that a surety. I cannot reveal his nature; only that it is an ancient foe that originated on this continent, not on the island.”

  “You were there?”

  “We were.”

  Small muscles flexed in Arthur’s jaw. “And?”

  “We were unable to assist. He died well, Arthur, and damaged the enemy’s forces. Imperiled their victory. They have withdrawn to lick their wounds. That is all that I can say.”

  Arthur knew that pressing would get him nowhere.

  “So we have other business? You said ‘first’.”

  “I wished to see the boy you rescued.”

  “He is not dead, Thanatos. You have no business with him.”

  “We wonder what you will do with him.”

  “I have not yet decided, but I will not turn him over to you.” Thanatos nodded, but did not comment. “I know you choose your appearance, so I don’t know why you insist this upon manifestation.”

  Thanatos altered his countenance to that of a handsome man with platinum hair and eyes with irises of beryl blue. The skin of his face was as pale as new linen.

  “We visited your domicile two fortnights past, or perhaps it was three. You have heeded my advice, made your peace, it seems.”

  An elongated quiet hung between them. Finally, Thanatos impinged the awkward pause, “The threat is not yet congealed, but as you know by tonight’s news, the enemy is active. Peace will soon end.”

  “Don’t hold me at arm’s length, comrade, and don’t set your sights upon this boy.”

  “I do neither, Arthur. Despite what I say, you have always done as you please.”

  Arthur looked back over his shoulder to Shanay who gazed sternly at him with her hand upon Adam’s shoulder. “People like this boy necessitate that I fill my role. His family requires justice and if not I, then who will do it? Will you?”

  Thanatos’ expression showed a hue of approbation. “I admire you. That does not change with time. Heed me. A wolf prowls the edges of your flock. Bring the sheep within shepherding distance. We risk ourselves to tell you this.”

  “Not for me, Horsemen. Do your duty. I never asked you into this. You do so of your own volition.”

  Mars raised his sword into the air and howled thunder. Thanatos’ human façade passed a disapproving glance at Mars and went back to Arthur.

  “Then allow us to ride with our individual obligations in mind. It is good to see you.”

  Arthur grasped Thanatos’ extended arm in embrace. “The feeling is mutual to most of you—as much as it can be.”

  Arthur walked back to Shanay. By the time he remounted his horse, the Four had vanished.

  He pulled Adam up behind him. The boy’s arms shook underneath his clothing. He asked, “Are those monsters? They looked like monsters.”

  “No, they are just horsemen. True monsters are the men who came to your house. Like anything unusual, the Horsemen are but a part of the great mystery of this world. When you learn where everything fits into God’s plan for you, your fear will diminish, but it will never go away. That is the purpose of faith.”

  As Blade trotted off, set to spring to a gallop, Adam asked, “Which god?”

  In the hours between high night and early dawn, Arthur, Shanay and Adam arrived in Ploor. Arthur imagined Adam’s wonderment amid his sorrow. He had confessed he had not been to a large town in his lifetime. During their ride, he had related the few details he remembered from the attack upon his family.

  Arthur had come to Ploor with Daemon when he was but a small boy, much younger than Adam was. In those days, the town sprawled unimaginably large. More than once he, and his childhood friend, Rumbar, had gotten themselves into mischief.

  The thought of Rumbar brought a remembering smile. They had remained friends until Rumbar was killed during the razing of Hellsgate. Arthur had made the enemy pay for that. Even gone, Rumbar often wandered into his thoughts.

  He and Shanay allowed their horses to wind their way through the familiar streets. The horses knew the destination. They had been there many times—the Lusty Wench. Rumbar’s mother had owned the tavern when Arthur and Rumbar first met, but helping Arthur’s parents escape the town, she had been butchered by their pursuers.

  Wolf now held ownership in the tavern and its reputation had not evolved.

  No one actually gave a damn about its reputation. Patrons cared that they could get drunk cheaply. They could temporarily inhabit the place without the harangue of idle conversation with those they disparaged. They felt somewhat sequestered by Wolf’s enforcement policy and need not worry about catching a dagger in the back. When they wandered in, they felt a modicum of shelter until they staggered out.

  After winding through the streets and sideways for nearly an hour, exhaustion looked heavy on Adam. He had been up more than a day and the protuberance on his forehead had drifted purple as a ripe plum.

  “We need to get him into bed and some spring water on that lump,” Shanay scolded quietly. Arthur affirmed her words with a tilt of his head but without speaking as they arrived at the Lusty Wench.

  Arthur led them into a dark alley behind the tavern, a place he had nearly died as a child. This night, he held no fear of that.

  Shanay dismounted from Lethe. Arthur let the sleepy lad dismount, and then Arthur climbed down.

  “Where are we?” Adam asked.

  “At a friend’s establishment. Come in and rest.”

  Together they entered through a narrow back entrance and waited.

  Shortly, Elizabeth, Wolf’s daughter, peeked around the corner. Seeing Arthur and Shanay, she displayed her left hand and signaled with two fingers. Second
room on the left.

  Arthur and Shanay ascended the stairs.

  “Lie down,” Arthur commanded softly to Adam. “Shanay will look after your head.”

  When Adam complied, Arthur crept down the hallway.

  From his perch at the top of the stairs, Arthur reconnoitered, staying mostly out of sight. The bar room had changed little since the last time he had visited. Wolf had installed glass in the front three windows, a bit of flair for a growing town. Glass remained scarce and expensive, but it could be had if one knew the right people. Evidently he did.

  A pyramid of pewter mugs piled high on the oaken bar. Behind the bar were four barrels. Two held cleaning water, if that is what you chose to call it.

  A faint haze lingered in the musty air, part sea, part smoke. The scent had not wandered in Arthur’s absence.

  Probably twenty men occupied the barroom. Elizabeth stood barkeep shift this night. Wolf sat back in the furthest corner, alone. Eleven men sat in a cloistered group where they had pushed some tables together. From the look of mugs on their table, they had spent a goodly amount of coin and their boisterous tone, excessive laughter, and prolific cursing drew attention to them. They did not fear being thrown out, nor believe that anyone could do so. That conviction could prove useful at times, but this would not be one of those.

  The rest of the patrons, less than a dozen, sat further away or stood at the bar and ignored them. The mercenaries wanted attention. If someone awarded the dare, they would probably end up dead.

  Good enough. He returned to the alley.

  Shanay scouted their room. Wolf ran a tight establishment, but even the best sentry might have a few thieves in the shadows.

  Sure that no one squatted with them, she coaxed Adam onto the sleeping cot. He did not object.

  His brunette hair was nearly the color of Arthur’s and she suspected on a lighter day, he might have a nice smile. Even so, the atrocity that had knocked him down could incarcerate him for the rest of his life if they did not take him home with them. There was no one else. Wolf’s son was grown and gone, as was Elizabeth. Joanie remained in Britannia with Arthur’s mother.