The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series) Page 15

  William was shaken up. He did not know what had happened exactly, but he felt that he had been very close to the end. He had not been prepared for the massive chaos of the battle. In the training yard he could take his time and control the situation. Even if there were multiple opponents, he knew he just needed to strike a “killing” blow to remove them from the battle and restore order. But here the onslaught did not stop. It was one opponent after another after another, with no respite between to collect oneself or reassess the situation.

  Then the chaos enfolded him again. He caught the blade of a sword on the side of his own blade. He swiped the weapon aside and stabbed violently at the face of its owner. The blow sent the swordsman reeling, but before William could finish him off another rebel was upon him, and another and another. He was shortly surrounded by several enemies in waiting. Time seemed to slow down for just an instant, where nobody dared move. William's peripheral vision seemed to open up and take in far more than he ordinarily saw, sizing up each opponent, wounded shoulder here, torn leather armor there, a hobbled leg on this person, a blind side on that person. He saw it all, just like the training exercises back home. There was no fear, but a clear understanding of what was required of him.

  William would have to strike first. He would need that small advantage to extricate himself from this circle. Enemies on every side was the worst scenario for a warrior to be in. But if he cut his way out of the circle he could turn on them and they would all be on one side of him, a much more controllable scenario. Without warning he struck, stabbing his katana point hard at the man in front of him. The farmer lurched back to avoid the blow and William spun the end of his weapon down and underneath his shoulder to catch the assailant he felt more than saw moving in behind him. He felt the knees buckle from the force of the thrust. Next his blade swung out in a wide overhead circle toward the heads and necks of all those closing in on him. They jumped back in an automatic reaction to the threat. William spun with it and brought the end of the weapon down sharply on the head of an assailant that had ventured too close. William immediately swung the end back under his shoulder to hold the opponent to his rear at bay. Hitting nothing, he swung it up in front of him, catching a rebel to his right in the chin and dropping him sharply. He then spun the weapon sharply to the right, catching another charging assailant in the temple.

  William spun still again in an endless loop to keep his opponents off guard and field the many attacks that were coming from all sides. He then whirled out of the circle of chaos. Facing the remaining enemies, he caught the blade of a third man on his own sword. He rolled his katana over the blade, turning his back to his opponent, and caught his attacker's sword arm under his right arm, trapping it against his body. He then reversed his grip on his sword and drove the point into the body of his hapless victim.

  William took position with his sword point leveled at the chest of the remaining opponent. It had all happened so quickly that some of the rebels had not yet finished collapsing, a fact mostly lost on William, who was now completely focused on his next victim. The farmer, however, was acutely aware that his band of men had been cut from around him in what seemed an instant. He faced William who was standing, sword leveled at his chest, panting from his exertion but looking none the worse for wear. The rebel farmer suddenly thought better of this particular challenge and retreated into the fray to find more appropriate opponents.

  William was just starting to chase after him when he was hit solidly in the side of the head. Stars exploded before his eyes and he staggered in a daze. His feet felt unsteady, but he knew to fall would be certain death. He vaguely saw a huge form in front of him as he stumbled away and swung a wild blow at the large form which was easily deflected.

  His assailant came into focus a moment later. It was the large, long-haired man that had been taunting them from the enemy line. He really did look like a giant up close. The giant swung at William, who parried with his blade and trapped the giant’s arm as he had done to his previous victim. He started to reverse the grip of his sword but the giant pulled sharply back. It took all William’s strength to maintain control of him, and his katana slipped from his hand. In desperation, William tried to break the giant’s trapped arm at the elbow. He held the larger man’s wrist in his left hand. William slipped his right arm under the giant’s elbow, and locked onto his own left forearm. He slammed down on the giant’s massive wrist, straining the giant elbow backward. William felt very vulnerable with the giant still at his back and jammed down as hard as he could, hoping to hear the pop of the bone and scream of pain from his opponent. But the giant was huge. He resisted, and for a moment they were locked in a contest of might over the giant's arm. William's eyes widened as this man began to curl his arm up against all the force William could muster to counter him. William re-exerted himself with everything he had, forced the huge arm straight again, and tried to force it to the breaking point. He could feel the giant’s back start to arch in pain and knew he was getting close when stars again exploded in William’s eyes as the giant punched him in the back of the head with his gauntleted left hand.

  William released his grip on the giant’s right arm and jumped forward to avoid the next punch that was already on its way. The next punch glanced off William's shoulder, doing little damage, but William had no idea what to do next. He was very disturbed by this oversized man simply out-muscling him despite his most valiant exertions. This was no farmer. One more poorly chosen attack against this opponent may spell the end for him. William stood in a half crouch waiting for the giant’s next move. He glanced down and saw his sword on the ground halfway between himself and the giant. He would expose himself too much if he tried to retrieve it, but he was very seriously doubting his hand to hand combat edge against this man.

  William went for his weapon. Taking a few steps, he bent over to make a grab for his sword. The giant got there first and trapped it under the thick heel of his right boot while the toe of his left boot planted itself squarely in William’s ribs. William sprawled backwards but quickly rolled to his feet again, trying to ignore the pain that was spreading quickly out from his ribs to the rest of his body. The giant was instantly standing over him and swung his sword hard at William to finish him off.

  At the last moment William lurched to the side. Instead of the blow to his head that certainly would have been his demise, the blade cut a deep gash in his arm. The giant had the advantage now. He followed up instantly with another kick, catching William, who was already partially doubled over, in the upper stomach just under his chest. The wind exploded from his lungs and the shock made his legs go involuntarily limp. He dropped to all fours, gasping for breath. He knew another strike must be coming and pushed himself backward in desperation.

  The blade whistled by his head and cut into the soft soil. He had narrowly avoided death again but was now on his back. He was helpless. This was the end. He knew it, and his opponent knew it. The giant sneered as he raised his blade over his head. “The head of a Dawning will make an excellent trophy,” he said and brought the sword down with both hands.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Henry Dawning?” said a cheerful female voice from beside Henry. He turned to see a short, dark-haired girl with fair skin, a wide face, and a beaming smile walk up beside him and interlock her arm with his. “I might have known you would not remember me,” she continued when he did not respond.

  “Please forgive my insolence, milady, but I am sure I have not had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, for I surely would remember.” She was broad of build without being manly. Her slightly oversized chest added to this impression, but as Henry regarded her, he became aware that she was not at all unpleasant to look at.

  “I am from Mayfield,” she said and waited for it to sink in.

  “Mary of Mayfield?” Henry asked, shocked. “That little obnoxio—sweet girl that used to visit Dawning Court when we were children?” The memories came flooding back to him as he recalled that her father
was often campaigning with his own, and the baroness and her spoiled little daughter were often hanging about Dawning Court for weeks at a time.

  “The very same, you big bully,” she said light-heartedly.

  “How ever did you recognize me?” Henry asked, embarrassed.

  “In truth, I was in Devonshire visiting an old friend when your party arrived. When I heard your name, I knew I positively must find my old friend and become reacquainted. Now, you must tell me absolutely everything that has become of your family since I have seen them last. Omit no detail.”

  “In truth, milady, I am ignorant of such details to a great degree myself as I have only returned from Persia some few days prior,” he admitted. Then, realizing she might be impressed with this addition, he added, “I have just returned from the Crusades.”

  “I might have known!” she said, looking suitably impressed. “When I first laid eyes upon your person, I could not believe the man that stood before me compared to the little boy that used to tease me and pull my hair.” Henry blushed at the compliment. “Of course you are a mighty warrior. Tales of your valor precede you, Sir Knight, as they do all your family.” Henry was not certain how true the “valor” part of that was but decided she was being sincere at least where he was concerned.

  “It appears the years have been kind to you as well,” Henry said abruptly, fearing he was being outstripped in the compliments.

  She smiled up at him. “Neither have your charms withered in the intervening years.”

  “Perhaps you have me confused with one of my brothers.”

  She chuckled at that, a light musical sound that was quite charming. “Your brothers are all great warriors, I’m sure, but that is not enough. A man is destined to come to naught if the strength of his intellect does not match the strength of his sword arm.” Henry liked that sentiment very much.

  “Lady Mary?” Another finely dressed woman called from an adjacent walkway. “Will you be joining us?”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “I’m afraid I must go. Henry, will you call on me? I really must hear all about the Dawnings. It has been too long.”

  Henry promised he would and watched her walk away with a spring in her step that he very much admired. He wondered if her forthright personality affected everyone the way it was affecting him. Whatever the case, he would definitely see her again.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The darkness drew out for Richard. It seemed endless. He no longer knew how long he had been there. He did not know when the days changed to night or back again...

  “Why am I still alive?” he shouted in anguish, but he could not be certain if he had done so only in his head.

  “Would you prefer to be dead?” The voice returned to answer him as it often did.

  “Compared to this? Of course I would prefer death!” he said angrily. “Why couldn't they have killed me on the battlefield? There is honor in that. This is nothing but degradation and shame.”

  “Don't you think that is what they want you to feel?”

  “Why? Toward what end?”

  “You have killed many of their people. You have done much damage. In some measure they are trying to exact payment from you... or at least punish you appropriately.”

  “Shouldn't I have done those things?” Richard was still angry. “These are strangers in our land. They forced their way in, killed our people, and took over. They are the enemy.”

  “And as the enemy, how would you expect them to treat you?”

  “I expect them to execute me with dignity!” Richard shouted at the voice, who he always felt was somehow patronizing him.

  “There is no dignity in execution, there is only finality. Isn't that what you really want? To be released from this?” The soft voice was always calm, never harsh or angry, but quiet and rational no matter how heated Richard became.

  “So I want to be released, what about it? If I cannot be freed physically, so much the better that my soul should be free in death.”

  “No, you have come too far for that. You are not a simple soldier on a battlefield. You are a powerful warrior that used your influence and talents to inflict vast amounts of damage. You are now reaping what you have sown.”

  “You keep talking like I am a villain! These people are the enemy! What I did, I did for God and country. What is wrong with that? And if I hadn't relied on that mercenary scum, I would still be waging that war.”

  “You did it for God and country?”

  “Why else would I do it?” Richard challenged. There was no response. “What? You think I did this for my family, is that it? To spread the fear and awe of the Dawning name?” Still no response. Richard was getting angrier. “You think I did this for myself? You think this whole thing was about self-aggrandizement? Why would I do that? Look at what I got out of this! Misery, sickness, and insanity!” He was shouting now. “Robbed of even the dignity of death! I got nothing out of this! Nothing! Everything I did I did for God, country, and family! And they all forgot about me! They have all forsaken me.” The voice was gone now. It always tended to disappear when he went on his tirades, but at that moment Richard did not care. “They all forgot about me. If I ever get out of here, I will have my revenge.” Richard was ranting now. “I will have my revenge on these miserable dogs, then I will have my revenge on everyone else for not appreciating the sacrifices I made for them. I gave up everything for them! Everything!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Bashir cast his eyes on the low, dark clouds rolling overhead and spat. “Does the rain ever stop in this cursed country?” His companion only grunted in reply. This was Bashir’s maiden voyage to the shores of Britain, and it was not agreeing with him. The humidity caused him to sweat incessantly, and the rain was relentless. In his three days in country they had seen more rain than they might see in an entire year in their homeland. The muddy roads were frequently impassible, and the thick foliage that lined the roads robbed him of his sense of direction and made him feel trapped. “I could not point north in this forest prison to save my very soul,” Bashir groused. They were riding on a road so tightly shouldered by trees that a horse could not make it through the tangle of undergrowth on either side. “I never realized this island could persevere so many times over the horizon, and still it does not end.” Bashir’s ordinarily sour disposition had continued to darken each day they had been out of their own land.

  Ibrahim for his part was relieved by the relative ease of this assignment. To be sure, there would be some danger as they approached their destination, and there was always some amount of danger for two unescorted Saracens in such an unholy land at times such as these. But the lion’s share of their assignment consisted simply of riding through beautiful country. No fighting, no killing at all, in fact, as they were intent on keeping a low profile. Anonymity was their greatest ally here, and they would go unnoticed as far as possible.

  Nevertheless, Ibrahim knew well his companion’s disposition after so many years of serving Allah by his side. And to point out the many positive things while Bashir was bent on being unhappy would only give this perverse man more cause to complain; Ibrahim held his peace while Bashir continued to complain. Thus was each absorbed in his separate thoughts until Bashir suddenly perked up. “What is it?” Ibrahim asked, growing uneasy. “Is there—”

  “Be still!” Bashir barked, and they listened in silence until the sound came again.

  From somewhere in front of them, they heard it. Softly at first, but it grew louder as they progressed.

  “Is that… singing?” Ibrahim asked in disbelief. They continued on, and the voice grew louder still. Yes, it was definitely singing. Somewhere up ahead a man was singing very loudly off key. They looked at each other in surprise and confusion, but assuming this was not the war cry of a vicious crusader, they continued toward the sound. As they rounded the bend, they saw the source of the singing. There was a lone figure in a large bulky brown robe astride a modest but not unhealthy palfrey ambling along as if he had n
owhere at all to be. He did not seem to notice their approach. Bashir and Ibrahim exchanged glances as he launched into another verse.

  “Oh, I gave my love a sweetheart. So my sweetheart she would be.”

  Satisfied that this was no threat, they thought it more suspicious to ride past without a word than to greet this curious stranger. They reined their mounts in to match his plodding pace. “Hail, good sir,” said Ibrahim hesitantly in heavily accented French, which both spoke passably well, though neither cared to speak the languages of their oppressors.

  The rider gave them a sidelong glance from under his long, sun-bleached bangs but continued the verse he was in:

  “If I can’t have my sweetheart, I shan’t go home again.”

  Ibrahim and Bashir exchanged another puzzled glance. The rider sighed and turned his attention to the two Saracens. He studied them for a moment and then addressed them grandly. “Greetings, fellow travelers on the road of life.”

  “Is this the road of life?” Ibrahim stuttered, not understanding the meaning. “We had thought this to be the King’s highway.”

  “And so it is, gentle sir. So it is.” He wore a smirk on his suntanned face. Ibrahim looked slightly confused but did not press the matter.

  “Forgive us, we are slow to understand your tongue and are clumsier still in speaking it, Sir Knight.”

  “Oh, I am no knight.” The stranger replied in deft but somewhat careless Arabic.

  “You speak our tongue?” Ibrahim rejoined with surprise as well as suspicion. “We must beg your forgiveness if we were too abrupt.” They were suspicious not only because everyone they met at best disdained and refused to interact with them and at worst were downright hostile toward them, but also because the fact that he spoke their language suggested he had been to their land; and that usually meant a godless, bloodthirsty crusader. But this man did not look like a crusader. His hair was cropped short in the back, and the bangs had gotten long over his brown skin, tanned deeply from many days in the sun. He wore a large, brown robe that bunched up everywhere, and the folds made him seem unusually large. The robe was slit up the middle to accommodate equestrian activities. “Is it wise to be drawing attention to yourself in the woods?”