A Creative Work of Fiction by Richard Hughes
Certain characters, as well as the setting, are credited to David Hopkins and Katie Popp.
Chapter 1: "For We Are The Best And The Bravest"
A sword is a remarkable tool. Forged properly, it becomes an extension of the wielder. In the hands of a master swordsman, it is no more a tool than your hand is a tool, than your heart is a tool. It becomes an organ, as part of the body as the blood in your veins. It is used without thought.
This is how Cain struck down the soldier, thundering across the battlefield on his white horse, his teeth bared in a war cry, the shout echoing across what little part of the battlefield could hear him: "For Christ the King!" No thought was given to the dervish as he was blasted to the ground, cloven near in twain by the brutal slash of the war sword. No attention was spared on mercy for the enemy, nameless and heathen and endless. Blood rained like manna from the heavens, the screams of the dead, dying, and victorious merging in to an endless roar of wrath and despair.
The enemy warriors looked up upon his mightily armored visage, his body covered in layers of tremendously hard iron, and they were struck down like wheat at harvest as they gaped at this indestructible and merciless enemy. Cain whirled his horse about, the thick hooves of his mount crushing skulls and bodies beneath him as the war sword lashed out and beheaded one, two, and then three of the Muslim infidels.
"...I was like unto an angel, avenging and merciless against the countless sinners of the far East! No man could stand against my sword arm, no blow could pierce my shining armor! I strode out, again crying, "For Christ The King, The One True Son of God!"
Adam's eyes were wide as he burnished out the dents in his masters' armor, thrilled by the tale of valor. The night was cold, and the campfire helped little, but the stories of Cain's victories over the Muslims were more warming, and more inspiring, than any amount of wine. The other knights laughed and clapped him on the back, their gauntlets nearly knocking the wind out of him, disbelieving yet appreciating his tale. Adam knew better. Cain WAS invincible; Cain was a knight like no other. He was proud and honored to be his squire.
Cain laughed at the derision of his fellows, his ears perking as he pointed towards Adam, who, as usual, stood back from the campfire, respectfully distant from the knights.
"Adam, come over here and tell these poor serfs what else I've done here!"
Adam laughed and gently placed the armor on the polishing cloth, careful not to let its burnished surface touch the sandy soil of the Holy Land - Sacred or not, dirt was dirt, and a knight on Crusade against infidels as numerous and terrible as the Muslim must be gloriously flawless. He stepped up, his tunic and cloak coarse against his skin, the night air chill and clear with hundreds of stars above, their light pure and clear on this moonless night. In the distance, nothing more than a tiny dot of light on the horizon, the greatest prize of all waited - Jerusalem, the homeland of Christ himself.
"Adam, quit daydreaming and get over here!"
He snapped himself from his reverie and hustled over, his tail wagging eagerly as he turned to the collected knights with a proud expression on his face. "Up to this date of 1099 in the Year of our Lord, Master Cain has slain," and here he paused to recall, "367 of the infidel in honorable combat, and has been wounded but once by a stray blow from one of our own warhammers." He held up the pierced piece of plate to prove the point, the hairline cracks in the metal not yet hammered shut.
"Some wound," scoffed the heavy-set badger next to Cain. "He doesn't even have a scar! This is a wound!" He pulled off his cuirass, tossing it to the ground without a care for it's pitted surface, and lifted his arm to reveal a massive, jagged scar running down his side, the smooth pink flesh interrupting the ragged flow of his ungroomed fur.
Cain sighed, tsking and shaking his head. "And you would think this was an accomplishment, from the way you brag, Belazar. A wound is a failure of honor. A wound proves to the world, 'I was injured by a lesser opponent.' It's a badge of shame, you thundering buffoon!" He slapped the badger across the back, who responded with a cuff across the shoulder, and who was met with a hearty thump to the back of the head. Cain turned to Adam in exasperation, his eyes filled with a deep contempt.
"Adam, who's right, him or me?"
"You, sir," he said unhesitatingly.
"Bloody right." He nodded decisively at the other knights and turned back to Adam. "Now get back to fixing that armor. We'll need it when we take Jerusalem."
Adam nodded curtly and returned to his work, his tail wagging in pride at having such a wise master. He tactfully ignored the brawl that was breaking out between Cain and Belazar as he carefully wove the mail together once more.
Cain was like that, proud and boastful, but he was a good man. He had taken Adam under his wing at a young age, having chosen the most devoted of the squires for his own. In return, Cain offered his own loyalty, and though it was gruff, Adam was learning much.
The light of Jerusalem beckoned in the distant horizon, the light of fire reflecting from swords from across the desert. Tomorrow, it would be taken, as an entire army of Christian soldiers strode forth to pry that pearl from the lips of swine. They would be scattered and left barren, properly cowed before the glory of Christ. With time, they too would see the truth, thought Adam.
He was a faithful Christian, who believed what his father had taught him. Christ has brought him this far, he thought - He wouldn't disappoint him now.
For What Have We To Fear - Ch. 1
Adam slept, then awoke with a start as Cain clapped him on the back. He looked up at Cain's face and then down at the armor.
"Adam, you fell asleep on the job... Bah, don't worry about it. Is the armor fixed?"
Adam nodded as he got to his feet, a vile taste of morning in his mouth. "It's fixed and polished, sir." His sandals felt like they had melted on to his feet.
Cain nodded. "Good. Good. Well, luckily you haven't missed much - We're not marching just yet. But Adam..." He kneeled next to the boy, their canine eyes gazing at each other for a moment. "Today is the day you become a knight. I've found armor for you... I want you to be with me when we go over the wall."
Adam didn't say anything. He couldn't, his face frozen with excitement. "You mean... You mean I'd get to fight? Wear armor? Are you serious!"
Cain smiled broadly, gripping Adam by the scruff of the neck with an armored hand and yanking him to his feet. "Bloody right, I'm serious! Now get back to our tent and get some water. You'll need it for the siege, we'll be busy. Drink whatever's left." He laid his gauntlet on Adam's shoulder and looked in to the eager eyes of his squire with a serious expression. "Listen, this is going to be bloody and violent, so be careful. You're not a real knight yet, this is still just practice. I'm taking you in there for both our sakes. I wouldn't be safe without someone to watch my back, and there's no one I trust more than you. After all, you learned from me. Now, go to the quartermaster, he's got your armor." He grinned and took his hand away, running off to the white horse that carried him across the battlefield. "Meet me back at the tent, with both our suits of armor!"
Adam nodded, breathless, even though Cain wasn't looking at him, and dashed off to the blacksmith. So much, so fast, so wonderful! He had never dreamed that he would actually get to fight next to Cain, to actually see battle! He had prayed to God that this moment might come, and now his prayers had been answered. If only the armor fitted properly!
He dashed in to the quartermasters' tent, but stumbled to a halt as he found every other squire in the camp ahead of him, waiting for the armor of their own knights. It wasn't a long wait... But he didn't have time for this, not with Cain waiting.
"Sir, sir! It's me, Adam! Cain said you had extra armor for me!"
The gruff old dog looked over Adam and nodded brusquely, turning back to the other squires, handing him a freshly patched shield. "Indeed he did, but you'll have to wait like everyone else."
Adam sighed and resigned himself, getting in to the line.
"So, Adam, what sort of whopper did Cain whip up last night?" A scruffy young wolf stood behind him, looking over Adam's shoulder with a mocking grin.
Adam turned and looked up at the wolf with his chin in the air. Henry was one of his greatest rivals, a great foolish lunk of a boy whose knight was both less skilled and less dignified than Cain. Of course, you could never get HIM to believe that, stubborn sycophant that he was. "Cain," began Adam, looking down his muzzle at Henry, "Was telling the other knights about how he slew forty-eight Muslims in honorable combat. How many did YOUR master kill?"
Henry laughed. "Sixteen, but he actually killed them! My master William said that Cain only killed three and spent the whole time yelling out war cries and running in circles on his horse."
Adam looked away, rolling his eyes. "You've never seen Cain fight." His voice dropped to a mutter. "And you've obviously never seen William fight either..." Henry bristled, narrowing his eyes, his ears lying back across his head.
"You just wait, you miserable little peasant," said Henry in a low snarl.
"I'll show you, after we take Jerusalem."
Adam almost didn't hear him, distracted as he realized he had reached the front of the line, and gaping as the quartermaster dropped two heavy oaken boxes carved with scenes of warriors on the lids. Warriors in plate armor, thick plates of enormously hard iron that deflected any attack, the symbol of knighthood.
Adam grunted and stacked the two boxes. "I'm afraid you won't, Henry," he said, struggling to lift the boxes, his muscles straining, "Because I am going to be FIGHTING at the siege of Jerusalem, and knights like me don't have to put up with insults from squires like you." He yelped and lost his balance, quickly putting down the boxes before he dropped them.
Henry tried to laugh derisively, but couldn't quite summon up the effort, and simply sneered instead. "Right. I'll be sure to scrape you up off the battlefield when you fall over and can't lift your armor again." He snatched up the box that held his masters' armor and walked out, the other squires laughing at Adam's failure.
Adam shrugged and tossed off his shirt, revealing his muscled upper body - The first thing that Adam had learned from Cain was strength. He popped open the box that he recognized as not belonging to Cain. And he gasped. It was scratched. It was dented. Some of the straps were a bit raggedy. There was a huge hole in the helmet describing the fate of its last owner. But it was iron, and it was his. The armor was perfect, and he knew that today, whatever Cain said, he had become a knight. There, in front of the envious gazes of the other squires, he pulled on the leather padding. He lay the chain shirt upon that, pulling the fastenings tight at the wrist and elbows, doing the same with the thick armor of the leggings. Next were the plates, strapped tight to the mail and each other, forming a single layer of iron, a second skin - the skin of a warrior. He walked out proud, his armor tarnished and battered, but beautiful to him - and to the other squires, who looked on him with naked envy.
Suddenly, he lost his balance as he tripped over something, crying out as the box of his masters armor almost fell from his hands. He lurched and slammed against the broken ground with a thud, the armor protecting him from the brunt of the blow. The other squires whistled and looked innocent, but one of them gritted his teeth against a bruised foot.
Adam bristled, but stomached the insult - Knights may not be obliged to put up with insults from squires, but it certainly wouldn't be honorable to fight unarmored squires while wearing plate. He hopped to his feet and loped off, carrying the armor to Cain, hoping that, when the time came, he wouldn't disappoint his master.
"Adam, you fell asleep on the job... Bah, don't worry about it. Is the armor fixed?"
Adam nodded as he got to his feet, a vile taste of morning in his mouth. "It's fixed and polished, sir." His sandals felt like they had melted on to his feet.
Cain nodded. "Good. Good. Well, luckily you haven't missed much - We're not marching just yet. But Adam..." He kneeled next to the boy, their canine eyes gazing at each other for a moment. "Today is the day you become a knight. I've found armor for you... I want you to be with me when we go over the wall."
Adam didn't say anything. He couldn't, his face frozen with excitement. "You mean... You mean I'd get to fight? Wear armor? Are you serious!"
Cain smiled broadly, gripping Adam by the scruff of the neck with an armored hand and yanking him to his feet. "Bloody right, I'm serious! Now get back to our tent and get some water. You'll need it for the siege, we'll be busy. Drink whatever's left." He laid his gauntlet on Adam's shoulder and looked in to the eager eyes of his squire with a serious expression. "Listen, this is going to be bloody and violent, so be careful. You're not a real knight yet, this is still just practice. I'm taking you in there for both our sakes. I wouldn't be safe without someone to watch my back, and there's no one I trust more than you. After all, you learned from me. Now, go to the quartermaster, he's got your armor." He grinned and took his hand away, running off to the white horse that carried him across the battlefield. "Meet me back at the tent, with both our suits of armor!"
Adam nodded, breathless, even though Cain wasn't looking at him, and dashed off to the blacksmith. So much, so fast, so wonderful! He had never dreamed that he would actually get to fight next to Cain, to actually see battle! He had prayed to God that this moment might come, and now his prayers had been answered. If only the armor fitted properly!
He dashed in to the quartermasters' tent, but stumbled to a halt as he found every other squire in the camp ahead of him, waiting for the armor of their own knights. It wasn't a long wait... But he didn't have time for this, not with Cain waiting.
"Sir, sir! It's me, Adam! Cain said you had extra armor for me!"
The gruff old dog looked over Adam and nodded brusquely, turning back to the other squires, handing him a freshly patched shield. "Indeed he did, but you'll have to wait like everyone else."
Adam sighed and resigned himself, getting in to the line.
"So, Adam, what sort of whopper did Cain whip up last night?" A scruffy young wolf stood behind him, looking over Adam's shoulder with a mocking grin.
Adam turned and looked up at the wolf with his chin in the air. Henry was one of his greatest rivals, a great foolish lunk of a boy whose knight was both less skilled and less dignified than Cain. Of course, you could never get HIM to believe that, stubborn sycophant that he was. "Cain," began Adam, looking down his muzzle at Henry, "Was telling the other knights about how he slew forty-eight Muslims in honorable combat. How many did YOUR master kill?"
Henry laughed. "Sixteen, but he actually killed them! My master William said that Cain only killed three and spent the whole time yelling out war cries and running in circles on his horse."
Adam looked away, rolling his eyes. "You've never seen Cain fight." His voice dropped to a mutter. "And you've obviously never seen William fight either..." Henry bristled, narrowing his eyes, his ears lying back across his head.
"You just wait, you miserable little peasant," said Henry in a low snarl.
"I'll show you, after we take Jerusalem."
Adam almost didn't hear him, distracted as he realized he had reached the front of the line, and gaping as the quartermaster dropped two heavy oaken boxes carved with scenes of warriors on the lids. Warriors in plate armor, thick plates of enormously hard iron that deflected any attack, the symbol of knighthood.
Adam grunted and stacked the two boxes. "I'm afraid you won't, Henry," he said, struggling to lift the boxes, his muscles straining, "Because I am going to be FIGHTING at the siege of Jerusalem, and knights like me don't have to put up with insults from squires like you." He yelped and lost his balance, quickly putting down the boxes before he dropped them.
Henry tried to laugh derisively, but couldn't quite summon up the effort, and simply sneered instead. "Right. I'll be sure to scrape you up off the battlefield when you fall over and can't lift your armor again." He snatched up the box that held his masters' armor and walked out, the other squires laughing at Adam's failure.
Adam shrugged and tossed off his shirt, revealing his muscled upper body - The first thing that Adam had learned from Cain was strength. He popped open the box that he recognized as not belonging to Cain. And he gasped. It was scratched. It was dented. Some of the straps were a bit raggedy. There was a huge hole in the helmet describing the fate of its last owner. But it was iron, and it was his. The armor was perfect, and he knew that today, whatever Cain said, he had become a knight. There, in front of the envious gazes of the other squires, he pulled on the leather padding. He lay the chain shirt upon that, pulling the fastenings tight at the wrist and elbows, doing the same with the thick armor of the leggings. Next were the plates, strapped tight to the mail and each other, forming a single layer of iron, a second skin - the skin of a warrior. He walked out proud, his armor tarnished and battered, but beautiful to him - and to the other squires, who looked on him with naked envy.
Suddenly, he lost his balance as he tripped over something, crying out as the box of his masters armor almost fell from his hands. He lurched and slammed against the broken ground with a thud, the armor protecting him from the brunt of the blow. The other squires whistled and looked innocent, but one of them gritted his teeth against a bruised foot.
Adam bristled, but stomached the insult - Knights may not be obliged to put up with insults from squires, but it certainly wouldn't be honorable to fight unarmored squires while wearing plate. He hopped to his feet and loped off, carrying the armor to Cain, hoping that, when the time came, he wouldn't disappoint his master.
Cain sat in the muggy tent, the air damp with sweat. In his hand lay his war sword, an heirloom of his family, and he was polishing it dutifully, carefully shining it to a liquid gleam. Adam stumbled in, still not used to the weight of his armor, and set Cain's armor on the floor with a sigh. Cain nodded, not looking up.
"Finally got it from the quartermaster? Took you long enough."
"A thousand pardons, sir." He opened the box before Cain could speak another word, not wishing to suffer his ill will. "Shall we don your armor?"
Cain nodded, placing the sword on a velvet cloth next to his bedroll and getting to his feet. No words were spoken as Adam helped him pull on the armor, so much (and so deservedly, Adam thought) finer than his. He looked over his body and nodded curtly.
"Good, good. Fits like a glove. Which reminds me... Adam," he said, "How's that armor fit you?"
Adam smiled and slammed his gauntlets in to each other. "It's perfect, sir. I don't know how you found one that fits me so well."
Cain grinned as he headed out the door, hefting his war sword on the way out. "Consider yourself blessed, Adam. It was all there was. Say a prayer for the last poor bastard to wear it."
Two horses waited outside, one brown and white, and the other, the color of perfect snow purity across its body. Adam recognized the white one, which was Cain's, but the other one was new to him. He approached it and pulled off his gauntlet, patting it gently on the forehead as Cain walked closer. "Cain," he said, "Do you know whose horse this is?"
"Mm-hm." Cain's horse grunted in protest as his heavily armored form vaulted in to the saddle.
"Shouldn't we bring it to him?" Adam looked in to the gentle eyes of the horse - It seemed docile enough.
"We already have - I picked him up while we were sacking that last village and saved him for you. He's yours - You just have to name him." Cain's horse whinnied and started off towards Adam at a slow walk, impatient for battle.
Adam didn't know what to say. He had been given so much, so fast, all at once. This was like a dream come true for him, from squire to knight in one fell stroke and at the best possible time. He trembled with joy and pride. "I'll name him... I'll name him Fellhammer."
Cain stifled a laugh at this less than dignified name and nodded. "Hop in - Don't know how well trained he is, but any horse is better than none, right?" He cantered off, Adam mounting Fellhammer and following. Fellhammer seemed well trained, and unafraid of the coming battle. Everything was perfect.
Yet Adam had a bad feeling, like there was something poisonous in the wind. He wasn't sure what... But something was wrong. He shrugged it off and galloped off after Cain, the wind whistling through his armor.
"Finally got it from the quartermaster? Took you long enough."
"A thousand pardons, sir." He opened the box before Cain could speak another word, not wishing to suffer his ill will. "Shall we don your armor?"
Cain nodded, placing the sword on a velvet cloth next to his bedroll and getting to his feet. No words were spoken as Adam helped him pull on the armor, so much (and so deservedly, Adam thought) finer than his. He looked over his body and nodded curtly.
"Good, good. Fits like a glove. Which reminds me... Adam," he said, "How's that armor fit you?"
Adam smiled and slammed his gauntlets in to each other. "It's perfect, sir. I don't know how you found one that fits me so well."
Cain grinned as he headed out the door, hefting his war sword on the way out. "Consider yourself blessed, Adam. It was all there was. Say a prayer for the last poor bastard to wear it."
Two horses waited outside, one brown and white, and the other, the color of perfect snow purity across its body. Adam recognized the white one, which was Cain's, but the other one was new to him. He approached it and pulled off his gauntlet, patting it gently on the forehead as Cain walked closer. "Cain," he said, "Do you know whose horse this is?"
"Mm-hm." Cain's horse grunted in protest as his heavily armored form vaulted in to the saddle.
"Shouldn't we bring it to him?" Adam looked in to the gentle eyes of the horse - It seemed docile enough.
"We already have - I picked him up while we were sacking that last village and saved him for you. He's yours - You just have to name him." Cain's horse whinnied and started off towards Adam at a slow walk, impatient for battle.
Adam didn't know what to say. He had been given so much, so fast, all at once. This was like a dream come true for him, from squire to knight in one fell stroke and at the best possible time. He trembled with joy and pride. "I'll name him... I'll name him Fellhammer."
Cain stifled a laugh at this less than dignified name and nodded. "Hop in - Don't know how well trained he is, but any horse is better than none, right?" He cantered off, Adam mounting Fellhammer and following. Fellhammer seemed well trained, and unafraid of the coming battle. Everything was perfect.
Yet Adam had a bad feeling, like there was something poisonous in the wind. He wasn't sure what... But something was wrong. He shrugged it off and galloped off after Cain, the wind whistling through his armor.
The greatest measure of a man is in battle. In combat, Cain said, everything good about a man shined through, as well as everything bad. Here was where he measured up. If he passed, if he was a good man, he would make it through. Poor men died.
That's what Cain said, and that's what Adam was thinking about. "I'm a good man," he murmured to himself, trying to convince him self it was true. "I'm a good man." He wasn't a bad man, he knew that, he wasn't a poor man. He was virtuous and honorable and brave and a good Christian - But he was prideful, too concerned with himself, and too envious of the prestige of the real knights. He wanted to be like that. But didn't the mere fact that he KNEW that what he was doing was wrong and that he was honestly starting to stop excuse him from his sins? Wasn't that was the Church taught? The Pope had said that everyone who went on the Crusade would have his sins excused, crimes forgiven, debts repaid, but it seemed to Adam that this wasn't right, somehow. He couldn't quite name it, but it was there.
Now, though, these thoughts could kill him. His horse marched in a great formation of knights; each was dressed in his finest iron, ready to live by the sword. The air was thick with the dust kicked up by the horses, but no one was willing to cough. The formation wasn't very large, only a few horses thick, but it was incredibly wide, the rows of knights stretching in to the distance, the air hazy from the heat but their stalwart forms nonetheless imposing.
Cain rode to the left of him, so perfect and so utterly flawless in his polished armor and white horse that he seemed unreal, like a mirage waiting to be rubbed away by a shift in the wind. His eyes were set forward, his gaze focused on one thing, and one thing only - The city of Jerusalem.
Adam swallowed, sweat running down his face. "I am not afraid," he murmured.
That's what Cain said, and that's what Adam was thinking about. "I'm a good man," he murmured to himself, trying to convince him self it was true. "I'm a good man." He wasn't a bad man, he knew that, he wasn't a poor man. He was virtuous and honorable and brave and a good Christian - But he was prideful, too concerned with himself, and too envious of the prestige of the real knights. He wanted to be like that. But didn't the mere fact that he KNEW that what he was doing was wrong and that he was honestly starting to stop excuse him from his sins? Wasn't that was the Church taught? The Pope had said that everyone who went on the Crusade would have his sins excused, crimes forgiven, debts repaid, but it seemed to Adam that this wasn't right, somehow. He couldn't quite name it, but it was there.
Now, though, these thoughts could kill him. His horse marched in a great formation of knights; each was dressed in his finest iron, ready to live by the sword. The air was thick with the dust kicked up by the horses, but no one was willing to cough. The formation wasn't very large, only a few horses thick, but it was incredibly wide, the rows of knights stretching in to the distance, the air hazy from the heat but their stalwart forms nonetheless imposing.
Cain rode to the left of him, so perfect and so utterly flawless in his polished armor and white horse that he seemed unreal, like a mirage waiting to be rubbed away by a shift in the wind. His eyes were set forward, his gaze focused on one thing, and one thing only - The city of Jerusalem.
Adam swallowed, sweat running down his face. "I am not afraid," he murmured.
Of course, there is no such thing as a siege that ends the day it begins. Cain, Adam, and every other knight was forced to eventually accept that, today, no one would be killing anyone. They headed back to camp and watched the catapults do their work. The crash, crash, crash of the heavy boulders thrown by those great slings was the lullaby that sent them to bed each night, and woke them in the morning, for two weeks. The Pope had no patience for long sieges and neither did knights, and there was no shortage of rocks for ammunition.
Cain and Adam spent the time training, Adam learning everything that Cain could teach him. They clashed like demons, their quick-silvery swords shining like lightning as they crashed in to each other. Most of the time, it seemed they were silent - everything that needed to be said had already been said, they thought. Sometimes, though, they would talk.
"Cain," Adam would ask, even as he deflected a vicious overhead blow from a pitted and scratched practice sword, "Why are we here at Jerusalem?"
Cain snorted, lashing out and slamming the flat of his blade in to Adam's side. "You have to ask that question? What did you spend your time on in church, you foolish squire?"
Adam slid Cain's blade away with the cross guard of his own sword, pressing the tip of it against Cain's armored ribs in the same movement. "It just seems so... so impatient, so prideful." He parried a whirling cut to the back with a spin and a twist of his hand. "If God intends for us to do His work here, why are we doing it our way instead of His?"
Cain kicked Adam in the back, knocking him forward in to a roll. "Because knights don't wait, Adam," he said, gritting his teeth in effort. "That's why we're knights." The tip of his sword came to rest between Adam's helmet and collar. "Yield."
"I yield."
Cain pulled Adam to hit feet and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. The Pope is the mouthpiece of God, and God is on our side, not theirs. You think God would lie to us?" He smiled. "God loves us, and don't you bloody forget it."
Adam nodded, grinning sheepishly. "I know, I know... I just... I just wonder sometimes."
Cain tsked. "Don't wonder about God's mysteries, Adam, that's prideful. Leave those to wiser men." And they fought again.
At last, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the day came. Their commander announced that tomorrow the siegeworks would be completed, and that the knights would lead the charge. A great roar rose through the camp, a war cry of exhilaration and faith, but it was followed by a murmur of confusion. How could the knights, who fought from horseback, lead a charge over a twenty-foot tall city wall?
The answer, apparently, was simple.
Cain and Adam spent the time training, Adam learning everything that Cain could teach him. They clashed like demons, their quick-silvery swords shining like lightning as they crashed in to each other. Most of the time, it seemed they were silent - everything that needed to be said had already been said, they thought. Sometimes, though, they would talk.
"Cain," Adam would ask, even as he deflected a vicious overhead blow from a pitted and scratched practice sword, "Why are we here at Jerusalem?"
Cain snorted, lashing out and slamming the flat of his blade in to Adam's side. "You have to ask that question? What did you spend your time on in church, you foolish squire?"
Adam slid Cain's blade away with the cross guard of his own sword, pressing the tip of it against Cain's armored ribs in the same movement. "It just seems so... so impatient, so prideful." He parried a whirling cut to the back with a spin and a twist of his hand. "If God intends for us to do His work here, why are we doing it our way instead of His?"
Cain kicked Adam in the back, knocking him forward in to a roll. "Because knights don't wait, Adam," he said, gritting his teeth in effort. "That's why we're knights." The tip of his sword came to rest between Adam's helmet and collar. "Yield."
"I yield."
Cain pulled Adam to hit feet and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. The Pope is the mouthpiece of God, and God is on our side, not theirs. You think God would lie to us?" He smiled. "God loves us, and don't you bloody forget it."
Adam nodded, grinning sheepishly. "I know, I know... I just... I just wonder sometimes."
Cain tsked. "Don't wonder about God's mysteries, Adam, that's prideful. Leave those to wiser men." And they fought again.
At last, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the day came. Their commander announced that tomorrow the siegeworks would be completed, and that the knights would lead the charge. A great roar rose through the camp, a war cry of exhilaration and faith, but it was followed by a murmur of confusion. How could the knights, who fought from horseback, lead a charge over a twenty-foot tall city wall?
The answer, apparently, was simple.
It was afternoon.
Adam and Cain thundered across the battlefield, side by side, in a massive throng of knights all heading for one spot, where the catapults had been barraging the wall with endless boulders and rocks and pebbles. The endless assault had formed a ramp of stones that they could charge up and over. The path between them and Jerusalem were clear desert, the ground flat and perfect for a long, hard gallop, but they knew that as soon as they were in range, a rain of arrows would hail down upon them, maiming and butchering the unprotected.
The sprint continued, foam flecking the coats of their horses, the wind screaming in their ears like a banshee, the sun as burning as the fires of hell. They did not slow down.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man."
His mantra did little to soothe his rattled heart, the desert sands beginning to howl like the damned. In his right hand, he held his sword, a utilitarian thing of no heritage, and in the other the reins of Fellhammer, a shield strapped to the arm. Through his slitted visor, he could just make out the archers in the distance, the dark fur of the jackals standing out against the cold corpse-blue of the sky. They were not firing yet - the sun was in their eyes, as it should be.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man."
Then they drew back their arrows, howling out in their heathen language, the dull cry just barely reaching Adams ears through the thunder of a thousand pounding hooves. Arrows shot down from the sky like poisoned rain, spattering across their armor, but dripping through every so often, a choked scream echoing through the thunder.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man."
His helmet had been mended; the fresh iron clanged as an arrow struck it with a tiny, asthmatic ting. Death had just brushed his cheek, smiling at him like a whore, beckoning him onward. Its scent was vile.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man."
They struck the ragged ramp with all of the force of a hurricane, but their horses lost their footing in the shaky ground. The knights struggled to rein in their horses as they rode down their fellows, hooves inches from the helmets of their brothers in arms. Arrow fire concentrated on the ramp, the archers dropping to one knee with a cold, focused glare as they sent their barrage in to the armored hordes. Arrows spanged off of armor and barding, but far too many found their mark. Horses crumpled and thrashed, knights bled and died where they stood, holding out their swords in impotent defiance.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man."
An arrow slid between two plates of Fellhammer's barding and shot in to his throat. He reared, screaming, and tossed Adam to the ground. He tucked and rolled, scrabbling on the rocky ramp, finding that he could move up on foot much faster than he could on horse.
"CAIN! GET OFF THE HORSE! YOU CAN CLIMB BETTER DISMOUNTED!"
He had no time to check whether or not Cain heard his reply, or even if Cain was still alive or not. Desperate, scared, running on instinct, he raised his shield and sword and sprinted up the rocky slope, pebbles rolling out from under him as he charged. Alien voices speaking in alien tongues chattered in a quick flow of language, like water, and then he was upon them, and then everything was blood.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man..."
Adam and Cain thundered across the battlefield, side by side, in a massive throng of knights all heading for one spot, where the catapults had been barraging the wall with endless boulders and rocks and pebbles. The endless assault had formed a ramp of stones that they could charge up and over. The path between them and Jerusalem were clear desert, the ground flat and perfect for a long, hard gallop, but they knew that as soon as they were in range, a rain of arrows would hail down upon them, maiming and butchering the unprotected.
The sprint continued, foam flecking the coats of their horses, the wind screaming in their ears like a banshee, the sun as burning as the fires of hell. They did not slow down.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man."
His mantra did little to soothe his rattled heart, the desert sands beginning to howl like the damned. In his right hand, he held his sword, a utilitarian thing of no heritage, and in the other the reins of Fellhammer, a shield strapped to the arm. Through his slitted visor, he could just make out the archers in the distance, the dark fur of the jackals standing out against the cold corpse-blue of the sky. They were not firing yet - the sun was in their eyes, as it should be.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man."
Then they drew back their arrows, howling out in their heathen language, the dull cry just barely reaching Adams ears through the thunder of a thousand pounding hooves. Arrows shot down from the sky like poisoned rain, spattering across their armor, but dripping through every so often, a choked scream echoing through the thunder.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man."
His helmet had been mended; the fresh iron clanged as an arrow struck it with a tiny, asthmatic ting. Death had just brushed his cheek, smiling at him like a whore, beckoning him onward. Its scent was vile.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man."
They struck the ragged ramp with all of the force of a hurricane, but their horses lost their footing in the shaky ground. The knights struggled to rein in their horses as they rode down their fellows, hooves inches from the helmets of their brothers in arms. Arrow fire concentrated on the ramp, the archers dropping to one knee with a cold, focused glare as they sent their barrage in to the armored hordes. Arrows spanged off of armor and barding, but far too many found their mark. Horses crumpled and thrashed, knights bled and died where they stood, holding out their swords in impotent defiance.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man."
An arrow slid between two plates of Fellhammer's barding and shot in to his throat. He reared, screaming, and tossed Adam to the ground. He tucked and rolled, scrabbling on the rocky ramp, finding that he could move up on foot much faster than he could on horse.
"CAIN! GET OFF THE HORSE! YOU CAN CLIMB BETTER DISMOUNTED!"
He had no time to check whether or not Cain heard his reply, or even if Cain was still alive or not. Desperate, scared, running on instinct, he raised his shield and sword and sprinted up the rocky slope, pebbles rolling out from under him as he charged. Alien voices speaking in alien tongues chattered in a quick flow of language, like water, and then he was upon them, and then everything was blood.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man..."
When he pulled his sword out of the heart of the last archer on the wall, looking at his fellow knights around him, the bodies of the archers seemed dirty, dishonorable, and ugly, their presence unholy, their eyes wide and unseeing. He wished he could clean his blade, but he couldn't. His hands were armored, and he could not make blood stick to them.
A hand clapped him on the back as the knights led their horses up the ramp, moving quickly, the sounds of battle, of death, blaring in the distance. Adam looked at Cain with fearful, stunned eyes. Cain smiled.
"You did well, Adam." He drew his blade and carefully lowered himself down on to one of the many bloodied wooden supports that jutted from the wall. "Come on. There is work yet to be done to cleanse this place."
Adam followed, shakily sheathing his sword and easing himself over the edge, wary of the twenty-foot drop. "Cain... we killed all of them..."
Cain nodded, taking the last six feet in one step. "And we did a bloody good job - I've not seen a stunt like that in all my days."
"But they're all dead. All of them. We killed them."
Cain turned around and stared Adam in the eye. "Don't get cold feet now, son. You're doing the right thing. Remember, God is on your side, all sins forgiven. Besides," he said, looking off in to the empty streets, "I don't think Christ will bloody well begrudge us the right to clear the Holy Land of heathens."
Adam nodded vacantly, looking over his armor for damage, his gaze travelling up to the knights on the wall, who were already mounting their horses and preparing to charge down the length of the wall. "Right... Master, shouldn't we wait for the others? We'll have no chance if we're challenged venturing off alone."
Cain shook his head. "We're no good on the walls without horses, we won't be able to keep up with them. No, it's best if we move on now." He looked at Adam, a strange look in his eye. "Surely you aren't afraid?"
Adam shook his head - Then nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid of going in there. There are many more of them than there are of us." The knights on the wall kicked their horses with a wild cry and thundered down the wall in both directions, their swords raised and a howl on their tongues.
Cain sighed. "Well, that clinches it. Not much left for us to do here. Let's move."
Adam shook his head, looking up at the abandoned wall, holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. "Master, we should just wait here. No shame or dishonor in good tactics. More knights will lose horses, and we can join them - Strength in numbers. What do you say, master?" A pause. "Master?" He whirled and saw Cain tromping down the street as fast as he could in his heavy armor. "MASTER!"
Desperate and furious, he followed, dashing forth, his cacophonous footfalls echoing through the streets. He could sense alien eyes gazing down upon him from windows high and low, their fearful looks heavy on his shoulders. Finally, Cain slowed, burdened by his ornate armor, and Adam caught up, hurriedly putting his sword away. He glanced in all directions, meeting fright in each window. Adam came to a halt, gripping Cain's shoulder, their armor meeting with a clank. "Cain, WHY? This is madness! We must go back!"
Cain looked away. "We have to be brave, Adam. I have to be brave." A dark, forlorn look was in his eye, almost mad, and Adam didn't understand at all.
"Master, there's a difference between bravery and foolishness, and this is foolishness! Please, let's go back to the wall before we're both killed!"
Cain paused, breathing slowly, and then at last nodded. "You're right... I... I wasn't thinking. Let's head back to the wall and wait for support."
Adam nodded, greatly relieved. "Thank you, master."
They turned and started walking back - The moment they rounded the corner at the first crossroads, they found themselves facing a small group of soldiers, each as stunned as they. Adam couldn't help but count and think - There were twenty of them and two of us, they had poleaxes and breastplates and shields and all we had were swords and our maces and a tenth of an inch of iron, we were weighed down by our armor and they could outrun us and even if we were faster there was nowhere to run. Nowhere at all.
So, they fought. After a moment of hesitation, Adam stepped forward and slammed his sword in to the brain pan of the nearest warrior, screaming an incoherent and meaningless war cry. "Christ the King" no doubt meant little to these people, and there was little point in going out with honor when the only one who cared about your honor was dying with you.
The jackal crumpled and bled, dying, as the sword continued through his body, spraying the contents of his head across the group of warriors, slicing off one of their arms with the same momentum. He stepped forward, swinging the blade upward, and caught one of them under the breast, the sword parting the thin iron of the plate and slitting his flesh. Then the axe came through the air and slammed in to his chest as he spun to meet his next foe, smashing through his plate armor and raised shield as though they were nothing, splitting his heart in two. He gave a weak little gasp of shock and died. His sword fell from his hand and he crumpled, blood spouting from the caved in chunk of iron that was once his skin. He landed face up, the sky in his open eyes and the dust in his open mouth. The other warriors cried out and moved toward Cain, who at last gave a roar of rage and charged in to them, hewing three heads from their respective shoulders before collapsing, his body battered. His last movement was to weakly raise his sword, the sword that had held his families honor for so long, to block the blow of a poleaxe, and to look up at the angry and terrified face of the jackal in despair as the poleaxe's heavy blade sheared his sword and his skull clean in two.
The warriors looked at their bodies for a moment in shock, and confusion, some of them recoiling from the bloody scene, some of them moving for a closer look.
"How did they get here from the wall so quickly? Are our defenses already destroyed?"
"It doesn't matter," said another, "We must move on, and defend out city. God is great! He will not fail us."
"God is great!"
They were rallied, and they moved on, leaving the broken, shattered bodies of six of their number and two of their foes behind.
Slowly, Adam got up, pain mysteriously absent. He felt the bloody wound in his chest - The tear in his flesh was there, the blood was flowing, his heart was limp and shredded in his body. Yet he was... untroubled. He stood up, carrying his armor with him, blinking, and looked down at his corpse.
He had been killed.
He gripped Cain's hand with a sigh and lifted him to his feet, his eyes stunned and shocked. They stared at each other for a moment, and the soldiers they had slain got to their feet unsteadily, leaving their bodies behind. Only Cain still held his weapon - The rest had left them with their bodies, but it seemed that the sword had died with him.
Adam looked over at the shattered face of the shrew whose brain he had splattered across the street. "I'm sorry about that."
The shrew shrugged, his eyes sunken in without his flesh to support them. "It is forgiven, foreigner. War is war."
Cain stared at the street around him, his face sheared in half from the forehead to the muzzle, blood pumping freely from the wound. He yanked off his red-stained helmet and tossed it to the side. It never hit the ground. "We're dead."
Another of the soldiers, a Manx, nodded, holding the bloody severed arm that was once a part of him in his remaining hand. "Now we will go to paradise, and you will go to hell."
Adam sighed. "I think it's a little silly to worry about that at this point. After all, that is for God to decide, and for God alone." Idly he reached in to the crumpled gap in his armor and felt inside the wound, gently pressing the two halves of his heart together. He took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm.
Cain sighed and sat down. "When will the Angel of Death come to lead us to judgement?"
A jackal with gray fur shrugged, blood dribbling from his chest. "He will come when he comes."
Adam looked at them suddenly, the movement prompting a new flow of blood from his chest. "How can you and we speak? We don't speak Arabic."
Cain shrugged. "Gods mysteries are not for us to deduce. Perhaps, past death, the curse of Babel has no power."
A jackal with no head seemed to look at Cain. He knelt and lifted the bloodied, dusty ghost of his head from the ground, holding it under his arm. "Tell us of Babel. We can tell each other stories until the Angel of Death comes for us."
Adam nodded. "You may have heard of it. Let me tell you the story..."
A hand clapped him on the back as the knights led their horses up the ramp, moving quickly, the sounds of battle, of death, blaring in the distance. Adam looked at Cain with fearful, stunned eyes. Cain smiled.
"You did well, Adam." He drew his blade and carefully lowered himself down on to one of the many bloodied wooden supports that jutted from the wall. "Come on. There is work yet to be done to cleanse this place."
Adam followed, shakily sheathing his sword and easing himself over the edge, wary of the twenty-foot drop. "Cain... we killed all of them..."
Cain nodded, taking the last six feet in one step. "And we did a bloody good job - I've not seen a stunt like that in all my days."
"But they're all dead. All of them. We killed them."
Cain turned around and stared Adam in the eye. "Don't get cold feet now, son. You're doing the right thing. Remember, God is on your side, all sins forgiven. Besides," he said, looking off in to the empty streets, "I don't think Christ will bloody well begrudge us the right to clear the Holy Land of heathens."
Adam nodded vacantly, looking over his armor for damage, his gaze travelling up to the knights on the wall, who were already mounting their horses and preparing to charge down the length of the wall. "Right... Master, shouldn't we wait for the others? We'll have no chance if we're challenged venturing off alone."
Cain shook his head. "We're no good on the walls without horses, we won't be able to keep up with them. No, it's best if we move on now." He looked at Adam, a strange look in his eye. "Surely you aren't afraid?"
Adam shook his head - Then nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid of going in there. There are many more of them than there are of us." The knights on the wall kicked their horses with a wild cry and thundered down the wall in both directions, their swords raised and a howl on their tongues.
Cain sighed. "Well, that clinches it. Not much left for us to do here. Let's move."
Adam shook his head, looking up at the abandoned wall, holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. "Master, we should just wait here. No shame or dishonor in good tactics. More knights will lose horses, and we can join them - Strength in numbers. What do you say, master?" A pause. "Master?" He whirled and saw Cain tromping down the street as fast as he could in his heavy armor. "MASTER!"
Desperate and furious, he followed, dashing forth, his cacophonous footfalls echoing through the streets. He could sense alien eyes gazing down upon him from windows high and low, their fearful looks heavy on his shoulders. Finally, Cain slowed, burdened by his ornate armor, and Adam caught up, hurriedly putting his sword away. He glanced in all directions, meeting fright in each window. Adam came to a halt, gripping Cain's shoulder, their armor meeting with a clank. "Cain, WHY? This is madness! We must go back!"
Cain looked away. "We have to be brave, Adam. I have to be brave." A dark, forlorn look was in his eye, almost mad, and Adam didn't understand at all.
"Master, there's a difference between bravery and foolishness, and this is foolishness! Please, let's go back to the wall before we're both killed!"
Cain paused, breathing slowly, and then at last nodded. "You're right... I... I wasn't thinking. Let's head back to the wall and wait for support."
Adam nodded, greatly relieved. "Thank you, master."
They turned and started walking back - The moment they rounded the corner at the first crossroads, they found themselves facing a small group of soldiers, each as stunned as they. Adam couldn't help but count and think - There were twenty of them and two of us, they had poleaxes and breastplates and shields and all we had were swords and our maces and a tenth of an inch of iron, we were weighed down by our armor and they could outrun us and even if we were faster there was nowhere to run. Nowhere at all.
So, they fought. After a moment of hesitation, Adam stepped forward and slammed his sword in to the brain pan of the nearest warrior, screaming an incoherent and meaningless war cry. "Christ the King" no doubt meant little to these people, and there was little point in going out with honor when the only one who cared about your honor was dying with you.
The jackal crumpled and bled, dying, as the sword continued through his body, spraying the contents of his head across the group of warriors, slicing off one of their arms with the same momentum. He stepped forward, swinging the blade upward, and caught one of them under the breast, the sword parting the thin iron of the plate and slitting his flesh. Then the axe came through the air and slammed in to his chest as he spun to meet his next foe, smashing through his plate armor and raised shield as though they were nothing, splitting his heart in two. He gave a weak little gasp of shock and died. His sword fell from his hand and he crumpled, blood spouting from the caved in chunk of iron that was once his skin. He landed face up, the sky in his open eyes and the dust in his open mouth. The other warriors cried out and moved toward Cain, who at last gave a roar of rage and charged in to them, hewing three heads from their respective shoulders before collapsing, his body battered. His last movement was to weakly raise his sword, the sword that had held his families honor for so long, to block the blow of a poleaxe, and to look up at the angry and terrified face of the jackal in despair as the poleaxe's heavy blade sheared his sword and his skull clean in two.
The warriors looked at their bodies for a moment in shock, and confusion, some of them recoiling from the bloody scene, some of them moving for a closer look.
"How did they get here from the wall so quickly? Are our defenses already destroyed?"
"It doesn't matter," said another, "We must move on, and defend out city. God is great! He will not fail us."
"God is great!"
They were rallied, and they moved on, leaving the broken, shattered bodies of six of their number and two of their foes behind.
Slowly, Adam got up, pain mysteriously absent. He felt the bloody wound in his chest - The tear in his flesh was there, the blood was flowing, his heart was limp and shredded in his body. Yet he was... untroubled. He stood up, carrying his armor with him, blinking, and looked down at his corpse.
He had been killed.
He gripped Cain's hand with a sigh and lifted him to his feet, his eyes stunned and shocked. They stared at each other for a moment, and the soldiers they had slain got to their feet unsteadily, leaving their bodies behind. Only Cain still held his weapon - The rest had left them with their bodies, but it seemed that the sword had died with him.
Adam looked over at the shattered face of the shrew whose brain he had splattered across the street. "I'm sorry about that."
The shrew shrugged, his eyes sunken in without his flesh to support them. "It is forgiven, foreigner. War is war."
Cain stared at the street around him, his face sheared in half from the forehead to the muzzle, blood pumping freely from the wound. He yanked off his red-stained helmet and tossed it to the side. It never hit the ground. "We're dead."
Another of the soldiers, a Manx, nodded, holding the bloody severed arm that was once a part of him in his remaining hand. "Now we will go to paradise, and you will go to hell."
Adam sighed. "I think it's a little silly to worry about that at this point. After all, that is for God to decide, and for God alone." Idly he reached in to the crumpled gap in his armor and felt inside the wound, gently pressing the two halves of his heart together. He took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm.
Cain sighed and sat down. "When will the Angel of Death come to lead us to judgement?"
A jackal with gray fur shrugged, blood dribbling from his chest. "He will come when he comes."
Adam looked at them suddenly, the movement prompting a new flow of blood from his chest. "How can you and we speak? We don't speak Arabic."
Cain shrugged. "Gods mysteries are not for us to deduce. Perhaps, past death, the curse of Babel has no power."
A jackal with no head seemed to look at Cain. He knelt and lifted the bloodied, dusty ghost of his head from the ground, holding it under his arm. "Tell us of Babel. We can tell each other stories until the Angel of Death comes for us."
Adam nodded. "You may have heard of it. Let me tell you the story..."
The story wasn't long, but they knew many, many stories. The eight dead men sat and spoke, and talked of things that they would never again see, like the arms of a lover, or the admiration of a brother, or the love of a mother. They would never see their grandchildren born, they would never more speak to those they loved in this life. These things eluded them now, and eventually they spoke no more of them, unwilling to think of it.
The inhabitants of the city slowly trickled from their homes, walking out in to the street, fear and dread in their eyes. They knew that the enemy was approaching, and that with him came a death as concrete and inescapable as these battered bodies here at this corner. Adam watched as they approached his body fearfully, then stepped away, as though his very presence might curse them. There were so many of them, all so afraid - Afraid of people like him.
Soon, he came. His robes were black, and he carried a scythe. All of his other features were hidden behind these two, irrelevant details of his enormous presence. His footsteps were silent, and his approach slow. The screams of the dead and the dying could be heard with his approach, and every one of the eight dead souls felt themselves drawn to him - there would be more killing tonight, this they knew. Those still living felt this too, and they huddled together, waiting for the approach of these foreign madmen who came and killed. He stepped through the crowd like a fog stepped through a forest.
Adam was the first to speak. "You're the angel of death."
The spirit nodded. Its voice was like fire burning crops. "That is my title."
For a moment, no one said anything - Then the headless jackal spoke. "Where do we go now?"
The spirit walked closer, a dull, rough sigh escaping its cloak. "You must wait here, I am afraid. I cannot take you to judgement until all who are to die here have died."
Cain looked impatient, annoyed. "How long will that take?"
"Until it is finished."
Adam nodded, as did the jackals, each of them resigning themselves to a long wait - Many would die here. Cain, however, sat down in a huff, looking offended and angry. "That a man should be born so high," he mumbled, "Only to die so low."
Another headless cat scoffed, his voice low and weak and lacking for breath. "There is no rank in death. Beyond that passage there is no earthly rank, only spiritual rank. But everyone must wait, it seems, no matter their station."
Adam looked up at Death again. "How many more?"
Death stared back. "How many more what?"
Adam spoke again, in an impassioned tone, waiting for an answer. "How many more will die?"
Bitterly amused, death laughed - a horrible sound. "As many as it takes. You should know that. You are a knight."
Adam looked away, having no real idea of what was to come, only vague fancies skipping through his mind. He has always thought of knights as heroic, but he could think of no heroic way to end this siege.
Cain glanced up at him from the corner of his eye. "Relax. Our troubles are over. We can rest and wait for judgement now."
Adam slumped to the ground dejectedly. "Rest, wait," he mumbled, "and watch."
The dead sat and waited. The crowd never touched their bodies, afraid of them, but the bodies of the dead soldiers were carted off for a quick burial. They watched their bodies go without fear, long past caring.
In the distance, the sounds of war came closer. Adam listened, his eyes closed as he sat, listening to screams. Screams of pain, screams of death, screams of hate, screams of wrath, but always screams. He shrank from it even as Cain perked up his ears. "Christ in heaven," he mumbled, looking off in to the dust-shrouded distance, "That is a terrible sound."
Cain nodded.
Adam could see the knights approaching. "Knights don't wait," muttered Cain. Indeed, the knights had long ago left the rest of the army behind - The siege broken, the army routed, the infantry had nothing left to do but follow in their path and clean up their mess.
Their swords gleamed no longer, nor did their armor, for the steel that they wielded was too spattered with dust and blood and the iron that shielded them had absorbed too many blows. War had taken their mantle of glory from them, and now they were like angels no longer. Now they were like demons, fallen from grace, as they charged ahead with sword arms swinging, cutting down the fleeing citizens in their path.
"No," Adam moaned, shaking his head in shock, "That's not right. Cain, why are they killing them?"
Cain looked puzzled. "What did you think they would do?"
Adam could see the act of death from a new perspective, now. A sword fell, a body was shattered, and it fell, splitting in to a spirit and a corpse as it did. Some spirits wailed in terror, others trembled with shock, and some gnashed their teeth and raged impotently against their killers, their rage dying down in to despair. There was no end to the dead, it seemed, and the crowd grew thicker, not sparser, as the knights passed through.
"Cain, they shouldn't be killing them! That's not right, that's not honorable, that's not just at all!" He cried out and heaved to his feet, trying to interpose himself between the charging knights and the fleeing civilians, their screams of terror filling his head. "STOP!" He too screamed, a new kind of scream, a scream of outrage, of betrayal.
He tried to lift his sword from his corpse, but couldn't, and then the knights thundered over his body, hooves crushing skulls and swords cleaving limbs and arteries. His fist seemed to move of it's own accord as he swung out and lashed his arm through the body of a knight, screaming, "Stop it! Stop, stop, stop!" He flailed and raged, but he could do nothing, nothing but watch as innocents died with him powerless to save them.
Finally, the knights were done. They had charged past, leaving only the dying and the dead behind them; blood was soaking in to the streets and leaving them filled with red mud. For a few steps Adam chased after them, but he soon stopped, too exhausted by the sight he had seen to care. He turned back towards his body and groaned, looking at the trampled corpse that had once held him. Cain looked on, silent and brooding, as Adam looked in to his eyes, still open despite his crushed skull. Adam tried and failed to close those eyes.
He felt other eyes on him, the gaze of many dead looking at him, staring. Slowly he got to his feet. It was a great crowd of the dead, of ghosts. They were all bloody, the wounds that killed them fresh on their forms, their eyes pale and hollow. Some were more grotesque than others, soaked in blood, their bodies ragged. Others were relatively clean, their spirits untouched except by a single grievous wound.
They approached.
Like a nightmare they came closer, neither shambling nor stumbling but just walking toward Adam. They saw his armor, they saw his sword, they saw his face pale from western genes, and he knew that they saw a murderer. He stepped back awkwardly, a dull, confused expression on his face.
"No," he said, "I didn't do anything." His voice came quivery, frightened, and he looked back at the soldiers for support. "Tell them I didn't kill any innocents."
They said nothing. Some looked away. One smiled and laughed very, very quietly. The ghosts came closer, glaring.
In the distance, death was still riding on his armored horse, still killing the unarmored with his bloody sword. Had Adam a sword, he could have fought, could have warded off these foes - But no, even in death he would not have been able to kill the innocent. Something caught the back of his foot as he stepped back yet again and with a cry of shock he fell to his back, the crowd yelling and lurching forward, teeth bared and hate dripping from their eyes. With a flash of movement Cain was between him and the crowd, sword drawn and ready as he stared them down. Again they hesitated, but then they moved again...
"Curs!" cried Cain, sparing no attention on Adam, who now pulled himself shakily to his feet. "Worthless curs! Will you be no better than the butchers who just slew you were? Will you strike down a unarmed man and join them in damnation?" Cain narrowed his eyes and pointed his sword at them, his voice shaking, the crowd once again frozen with fear and self-doubt. "He's worth more than any of you ever were! If you want to kill someone again..." He struck his gauntlet against his chest, the armor clanging. "Kill me! You'll have to if you want to get to him." He sheathed his sword and stood, watching, daring them with his eyes. No one advanced, stunned by his outburst of rage.
Cain nodded, moving next to Adam. Still a little shaky, he patted Cain on the back. "Thanks..." The dead peasants seemed to have lost their focus, and they turned to each other, some crying, some praying, others kissing what they feared would be their last kiss.
Cain nodded brusquely, not looking back, as he slammed his sword blade in to the scabbard. He didn't respond, and watched the crowd longer, making sure they had truly lost interest in killing them, and then finally relaxed, slowly and laboriously exhaling. Without speaking, he sat down heavily on the ground.
There was a moment of hesitation before Adam joined Cain on the dirt, leaning his back against his masters. A word began in his throat, ready to be spoken, but Cain interrupted before it could escape.
"When it's finished," he said.
The inhabitants of the city slowly trickled from their homes, walking out in to the street, fear and dread in their eyes. They knew that the enemy was approaching, and that with him came a death as concrete and inescapable as these battered bodies here at this corner. Adam watched as they approached his body fearfully, then stepped away, as though his very presence might curse them. There were so many of them, all so afraid - Afraid of people like him.
Soon, he came. His robes were black, and he carried a scythe. All of his other features were hidden behind these two, irrelevant details of his enormous presence. His footsteps were silent, and his approach slow. The screams of the dead and the dying could be heard with his approach, and every one of the eight dead souls felt themselves drawn to him - there would be more killing tonight, this they knew. Those still living felt this too, and they huddled together, waiting for the approach of these foreign madmen who came and killed. He stepped through the crowd like a fog stepped through a forest.
Adam was the first to speak. "You're the angel of death."
The spirit nodded. Its voice was like fire burning crops. "That is my title."
For a moment, no one said anything - Then the headless jackal spoke. "Where do we go now?"
The spirit walked closer, a dull, rough sigh escaping its cloak. "You must wait here, I am afraid. I cannot take you to judgement until all who are to die here have died."
Cain looked impatient, annoyed. "How long will that take?"
"Until it is finished."
Adam nodded, as did the jackals, each of them resigning themselves to a long wait - Many would die here. Cain, however, sat down in a huff, looking offended and angry. "That a man should be born so high," he mumbled, "Only to die so low."
Another headless cat scoffed, his voice low and weak and lacking for breath. "There is no rank in death. Beyond that passage there is no earthly rank, only spiritual rank. But everyone must wait, it seems, no matter their station."
Adam looked up at Death again. "How many more?"
Death stared back. "How many more what?"
Adam spoke again, in an impassioned tone, waiting for an answer. "How many more will die?"
Bitterly amused, death laughed - a horrible sound. "As many as it takes. You should know that. You are a knight."
Adam looked away, having no real idea of what was to come, only vague fancies skipping through his mind. He has always thought of knights as heroic, but he could think of no heroic way to end this siege.
Cain glanced up at him from the corner of his eye. "Relax. Our troubles are over. We can rest and wait for judgement now."
Adam slumped to the ground dejectedly. "Rest, wait," he mumbled, "and watch."
The dead sat and waited. The crowd never touched their bodies, afraid of them, but the bodies of the dead soldiers were carted off for a quick burial. They watched their bodies go without fear, long past caring.
In the distance, the sounds of war came closer. Adam listened, his eyes closed as he sat, listening to screams. Screams of pain, screams of death, screams of hate, screams of wrath, but always screams. He shrank from it even as Cain perked up his ears. "Christ in heaven," he mumbled, looking off in to the dust-shrouded distance, "That is a terrible sound."
Cain nodded.
Adam could see the knights approaching. "Knights don't wait," muttered Cain. Indeed, the knights had long ago left the rest of the army behind - The siege broken, the army routed, the infantry had nothing left to do but follow in their path and clean up their mess.
Their swords gleamed no longer, nor did their armor, for the steel that they wielded was too spattered with dust and blood and the iron that shielded them had absorbed too many blows. War had taken their mantle of glory from them, and now they were like angels no longer. Now they were like demons, fallen from grace, as they charged ahead with sword arms swinging, cutting down the fleeing citizens in their path.
"No," Adam moaned, shaking his head in shock, "That's not right. Cain, why are they killing them?"
Cain looked puzzled. "What did you think they would do?"
Adam could see the act of death from a new perspective, now. A sword fell, a body was shattered, and it fell, splitting in to a spirit and a corpse as it did. Some spirits wailed in terror, others trembled with shock, and some gnashed their teeth and raged impotently against their killers, their rage dying down in to despair. There was no end to the dead, it seemed, and the crowd grew thicker, not sparser, as the knights passed through.
"Cain, they shouldn't be killing them! That's not right, that's not honorable, that's not just at all!" He cried out and heaved to his feet, trying to interpose himself between the charging knights and the fleeing civilians, their screams of terror filling his head. "STOP!" He too screamed, a new kind of scream, a scream of outrage, of betrayal.
He tried to lift his sword from his corpse, but couldn't, and then the knights thundered over his body, hooves crushing skulls and swords cleaving limbs and arteries. His fist seemed to move of it's own accord as he swung out and lashed his arm through the body of a knight, screaming, "Stop it! Stop, stop, stop!" He flailed and raged, but he could do nothing, nothing but watch as innocents died with him powerless to save them.
Finally, the knights were done. They had charged past, leaving only the dying and the dead behind them; blood was soaking in to the streets and leaving them filled with red mud. For a few steps Adam chased after them, but he soon stopped, too exhausted by the sight he had seen to care. He turned back towards his body and groaned, looking at the trampled corpse that had once held him. Cain looked on, silent and brooding, as Adam looked in to his eyes, still open despite his crushed skull. Adam tried and failed to close those eyes.
He felt other eyes on him, the gaze of many dead looking at him, staring. Slowly he got to his feet. It was a great crowd of the dead, of ghosts. They were all bloody, the wounds that killed them fresh on their forms, their eyes pale and hollow. Some were more grotesque than others, soaked in blood, their bodies ragged. Others were relatively clean, their spirits untouched except by a single grievous wound.
They approached.
Like a nightmare they came closer, neither shambling nor stumbling but just walking toward Adam. They saw his armor, they saw his sword, they saw his face pale from western genes, and he knew that they saw a murderer. He stepped back awkwardly, a dull, confused expression on his face.
"No," he said, "I didn't do anything." His voice came quivery, frightened, and he looked back at the soldiers for support. "Tell them I didn't kill any innocents."
They said nothing. Some looked away. One smiled and laughed very, very quietly. The ghosts came closer, glaring.
In the distance, death was still riding on his armored horse, still killing the unarmored with his bloody sword. Had Adam a sword, he could have fought, could have warded off these foes - But no, even in death he would not have been able to kill the innocent. Something caught the back of his foot as he stepped back yet again and with a cry of shock he fell to his back, the crowd yelling and lurching forward, teeth bared and hate dripping from their eyes. With a flash of movement Cain was between him and the crowd, sword drawn and ready as he stared them down. Again they hesitated, but then they moved again...
"Curs!" cried Cain, sparing no attention on Adam, who now pulled himself shakily to his feet. "Worthless curs! Will you be no better than the butchers who just slew you were? Will you strike down a unarmed man and join them in damnation?" Cain narrowed his eyes and pointed his sword at them, his voice shaking, the crowd once again frozen with fear and self-doubt. "He's worth more than any of you ever were! If you want to kill someone again..." He struck his gauntlet against his chest, the armor clanging. "Kill me! You'll have to if you want to get to him." He sheathed his sword and stood, watching, daring them with his eyes. No one advanced, stunned by his outburst of rage.
Cain nodded, moving next to Adam. Still a little shaky, he patted Cain on the back. "Thanks..." The dead peasants seemed to have lost their focus, and they turned to each other, some crying, some praying, others kissing what they feared would be their last kiss.
Cain nodded brusquely, not looking back, as he slammed his sword blade in to the scabbard. He didn't respond, and watched the crowd longer, making sure they had truly lost interest in killing them, and then finally relaxed, slowly and laboriously exhaling. Without speaking, he sat down heavily on the ground.
There was a moment of hesitation before Adam joined Cain on the dirt, leaning his back against his masters. A word began in his throat, ready to be spoken, but Cain interrupted before it could escape.
"When it's finished," he said.
It took what felt like forever for the killing to end. The screams died down, faded in to the distance - Still they waited. The peasants talked amongst themselves, worrying the subject of these two foreigners in their midst like a dog worries a bone, but eventually the two knights were forgotten, which was fine to them. They watched, Cain brooding, Adam thinking.
Night fell. The clouds slid from the sky like blood from oil. The stench of death hung so thick in the air that it stuck to your skin and oozed through the crevices of your armor to slither on to your fur. The dead sat and waited around them, most of them past talk - Merely waiting for the last defender to fall, and for the last innocent to die.
No more knights rode past this insignificant little corner of Jerusalem. No more soldiers rode past these corpses. Here there was no more life... Here, the killing was done. But that was not enough.
Soon, however, as the first stars began to shine in the sky, it came to be that all that would die had died. The one who mortals called the Reaper once more walked through the streets, and his presence moved the many souls to their feet. Adam watched those around them rise as the dark figure moved past, his decrepit and bony hand gripping his scythe like he was strangling it.
"Adam... We should get up. We should go."
Cain looked up with a blink, snorting in surprise as he awoke. "Sorry... I fell asleep. The killing's over already?" He looked about incredulously, heaving himself to his feet.
Adam nodded, standing and walking along with the dead, Cain following a moment later. "Apparently. Now we follow him, I suppose."
"Go with the rest, then?"
"Yes. That's probably what we're supposed to do."
They walked, and walked, and it came to pass that they were no longer on Earth. The place and time where the step between worlds was made was not unlike every other step. Neither of them noticed exactly when the ground fell away in to a vast, cerulean blue like the sky at midday and the sky dissolved in to an endless white like the deepest, purest snow. It simply was, and was no longer earth.
Everyone was hurt. There were thousands of dead with them, each bloodied and wounded in some way. They all marched towards the light, a vast intensity of illumination off on the horizon that burned when you looked directly at it. Their footfalls made no sound, their number uncountable and blurring in to one vast entity. It was like a dream, except it was cruelly, shockingly real. These sensations were not real sensations. These sensations that the dead felts were things normally only found in dream or fantasy. Yet, here they were, real - The silence of hundreds of voices saying nothing, of hundreds of feet walking on nothing, the light of God in the far distance, His presence now palpable, oppressive yet uplifting - Judging.
Adam found himself frantically mumbling his mantra as he walked, as though in a panic, his voice catching in his throat. They were so close from the place of judgement, and fear filled him.
Cain put a hand on Adam's shoulder, and Adam, shaking, looked to him.
"I'm afraid," said Adam.
"Don't be." Cain shook his head. "We are the best and bravest. We serve God. What have we to fear?"
Adam squinted in to the light and blinked. "I don't know."
The parade of souls kept marching for a while, then unceremoniously ground to a halt. Off in the distance, blurred by the babble of dozens of dead, Adam could hear a simple pronouncement being made, over and over.
"Left." "Right." A single voice was repeating these two words endlessly, in a toneless, emotionless dictum. The voice was deep and commanding, and it gripped his soul like burrs on wool.
The parade slowly tapered down in to a single file line, with Cain one step ahead of Adam. The voice continued without cease, and finally the source of the endless droning dictation came in to view. A single gray haired rabbit, aged and wizened, with eyes far past any sort of sympathy for those it judged. It was St. Peter himself, and he stood at a judge's pedestal made of gold and silver, shining like the sun itself. On either side of him stood an angel, a tall lion and stallion armored in sunlight and armed with swords of fire. Behind the angels were two doors - Identical, made of polished white marble.
Adam watched, enthralled by this strange judgement, so unlike everything he had ever expected of death. He noticed that most of the dead went to the right - But many, perhaps one in three, went to the left. These... These were sad people. Some of them cried and pleaded, begging to be forgiven, for an explanation, for a reason, and had to be dragged and thrown in to the left door, screaming as they did. Others simply turned and tried to run, but they, too, were caught and thrown in to the abyss. Others merely sighed, and walked in without protest. One, a grinning ferret, simply laughed, spat at St. Peters feet, and strode in to the gate with a smile.
Those who went to the right were universally overjoyed, crying praise to God as they stepped through, bringing their loved ones with them.
Yet behind each door was the same thing: Nothing. There was just a deep, undifferentiated gray.
And then there was no more time for watching. There was no more time for conjecture. For now they stood before St. Peter himself. The aged creature leant over the podium and gazed down upon Cain. Cain gazed back, a confident and happy smile on his face.
"Left."
His face fell, and Adam cried out. "No!"
The angels and Peter watched resolutely as Cain stumbled back, gaping. "This can't be!" He cried out in protest, "The Pope said our sins would be forgiven if we entered the crusade!"
Peter said nothing.
"You can't do this! This is a mistake," said Adam firmly. "You have made an error. Cain does not deserve Hell."
The angels tightened their grip on their swords, narrowing their eyes.
With a panicked expression on his face, Cain turned to Adam, gripping his shoulders tightly as he gazed in to his eyes like a child with a skinned knee. "What am I going to do?"
Adam didn't know what to say. The lion stepped forward, reaching out towards Cain, and with a cry of mortal terror Cain drew his sword and lashed out at the celestial creature.
The blade seemed to hesitate for a moment before it cut in to that heavenly flesh, but then it bit, and bite it did as it tore through the angel's paw and sheared off three of its digits, causing the great creature to rear back with a cry of rage. "You won't take me without a fight!"
The souls behind them backed off, perhaps wisely. Adam hesitated, unsure what to do, taking in the fearsome expression of indignation on the snarling visage of Cain, and the grim determination spelled out in the visage of the two approaching angels.
He took a single step towards Cain. In a blur of movement the two angels grabbed his arm and threw him through the portal to hell in a vicious overhand toss, his wail of terror echoing for a brief second before the infinite calm of limbo drowned it out.
Adam could not move, nor could he speak, his gaze fixed on the portal before him, the infinite gray of the abyss staring back at him, mocking. Trembling, his ears laid across his head, he looked up at Peter.
"Right."
"NO!" He screamed out, an expression of righteous anger on his face, and swiveled on his heels, bearing down on Hell as he started to sprint. Even the angels were shocked, looking on like statues for a precious second before they tried to intervene. His footsteps felt as heavy as lead, every horrible thing he had seen collapsing upon him, dragging him back away, towards peace, towards Heaven.
He couldn't leave Cain behind. It wasn't just.
He was mere feet from the portal, and the angel dove to grab his ankle, its outstretched paw closing around his armored leg. With a victorious, clarion cry, Adam pulled free of the mangled paw, and slipped, headfirst, in to the gray.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man..."
Night fell. The clouds slid from the sky like blood from oil. The stench of death hung so thick in the air that it stuck to your skin and oozed through the crevices of your armor to slither on to your fur. The dead sat and waited around them, most of them past talk - Merely waiting for the last defender to fall, and for the last innocent to die.
No more knights rode past this insignificant little corner of Jerusalem. No more soldiers rode past these corpses. Here there was no more life... Here, the killing was done. But that was not enough.
Soon, however, as the first stars began to shine in the sky, it came to be that all that would die had died. The one who mortals called the Reaper once more walked through the streets, and his presence moved the many souls to their feet. Adam watched those around them rise as the dark figure moved past, his decrepit and bony hand gripping his scythe like he was strangling it.
"Adam... We should get up. We should go."
Cain looked up with a blink, snorting in surprise as he awoke. "Sorry... I fell asleep. The killing's over already?" He looked about incredulously, heaving himself to his feet.
Adam nodded, standing and walking along with the dead, Cain following a moment later. "Apparently. Now we follow him, I suppose."
"Go with the rest, then?"
"Yes. That's probably what we're supposed to do."
They walked, and walked, and it came to pass that they were no longer on Earth. The place and time where the step between worlds was made was not unlike every other step. Neither of them noticed exactly when the ground fell away in to a vast, cerulean blue like the sky at midday and the sky dissolved in to an endless white like the deepest, purest snow. It simply was, and was no longer earth.
Everyone was hurt. There were thousands of dead with them, each bloodied and wounded in some way. They all marched towards the light, a vast intensity of illumination off on the horizon that burned when you looked directly at it. Their footfalls made no sound, their number uncountable and blurring in to one vast entity. It was like a dream, except it was cruelly, shockingly real. These sensations were not real sensations. These sensations that the dead felts were things normally only found in dream or fantasy. Yet, here they were, real - The silence of hundreds of voices saying nothing, of hundreds of feet walking on nothing, the light of God in the far distance, His presence now palpable, oppressive yet uplifting - Judging.
Adam found himself frantically mumbling his mantra as he walked, as though in a panic, his voice catching in his throat. They were so close from the place of judgement, and fear filled him.
Cain put a hand on Adam's shoulder, and Adam, shaking, looked to him.
"I'm afraid," said Adam.
"Don't be." Cain shook his head. "We are the best and bravest. We serve God. What have we to fear?"
Adam squinted in to the light and blinked. "I don't know."
The parade of souls kept marching for a while, then unceremoniously ground to a halt. Off in the distance, blurred by the babble of dozens of dead, Adam could hear a simple pronouncement being made, over and over.
"Left." "Right." A single voice was repeating these two words endlessly, in a toneless, emotionless dictum. The voice was deep and commanding, and it gripped his soul like burrs on wool.
The parade slowly tapered down in to a single file line, with Cain one step ahead of Adam. The voice continued without cease, and finally the source of the endless droning dictation came in to view. A single gray haired rabbit, aged and wizened, with eyes far past any sort of sympathy for those it judged. It was St. Peter himself, and he stood at a judge's pedestal made of gold and silver, shining like the sun itself. On either side of him stood an angel, a tall lion and stallion armored in sunlight and armed with swords of fire. Behind the angels were two doors - Identical, made of polished white marble.
Adam watched, enthralled by this strange judgement, so unlike everything he had ever expected of death. He noticed that most of the dead went to the right - But many, perhaps one in three, went to the left. These... These were sad people. Some of them cried and pleaded, begging to be forgiven, for an explanation, for a reason, and had to be dragged and thrown in to the left door, screaming as they did. Others simply turned and tried to run, but they, too, were caught and thrown in to the abyss. Others merely sighed, and walked in without protest. One, a grinning ferret, simply laughed, spat at St. Peters feet, and strode in to the gate with a smile.
Those who went to the right were universally overjoyed, crying praise to God as they stepped through, bringing their loved ones with them.
Yet behind each door was the same thing: Nothing. There was just a deep, undifferentiated gray.
And then there was no more time for watching. There was no more time for conjecture. For now they stood before St. Peter himself. The aged creature leant over the podium and gazed down upon Cain. Cain gazed back, a confident and happy smile on his face.
"Left."
His face fell, and Adam cried out. "No!"
The angels and Peter watched resolutely as Cain stumbled back, gaping. "This can't be!" He cried out in protest, "The Pope said our sins would be forgiven if we entered the crusade!"
Peter said nothing.
"You can't do this! This is a mistake," said Adam firmly. "You have made an error. Cain does not deserve Hell."
The angels tightened their grip on their swords, narrowing their eyes.
With a panicked expression on his face, Cain turned to Adam, gripping his shoulders tightly as he gazed in to his eyes like a child with a skinned knee. "What am I going to do?"
Adam didn't know what to say. The lion stepped forward, reaching out towards Cain, and with a cry of mortal terror Cain drew his sword and lashed out at the celestial creature.
The blade seemed to hesitate for a moment before it cut in to that heavenly flesh, but then it bit, and bite it did as it tore through the angel's paw and sheared off three of its digits, causing the great creature to rear back with a cry of rage. "You won't take me without a fight!"
The souls behind them backed off, perhaps wisely. Adam hesitated, unsure what to do, taking in the fearsome expression of indignation on the snarling visage of Cain, and the grim determination spelled out in the visage of the two approaching angels.
He took a single step towards Cain. In a blur of movement the two angels grabbed his arm and threw him through the portal to hell in a vicious overhand toss, his wail of terror echoing for a brief second before the infinite calm of limbo drowned it out.
Adam could not move, nor could he speak, his gaze fixed on the portal before him, the infinite gray of the abyss staring back at him, mocking. Trembling, his ears laid across his head, he looked up at Peter.
"Right."
"NO!" He screamed out, an expression of righteous anger on his face, and swiveled on his heels, bearing down on Hell as he started to sprint. Even the angels were shocked, looking on like statues for a precious second before they tried to intervene. His footsteps felt as heavy as lead, every horrible thing he had seen collapsing upon him, dragging him back away, towards peace, towards Heaven.
He couldn't leave Cain behind. It wasn't just.
He was mere feet from the portal, and the angel dove to grab his ankle, its outstretched paw closing around his armored leg. With a victorious, clarion cry, Adam pulled free of the mangled paw, and slipped, headfirst, in to the gray.
"I am not afraid. I am a good man. I am not afraid. I am a good man..."
Adam slammed in to the stony turf, his entire body rattling despite his armor shielding him from the brunt of the blow. The ground had come out of nowhere, and he heaved himself to his feet, armored hands lifting him up.
With a cough he spat out one of his teeth on to the ground, the sound of its impact barely reaching his ears. He looked upwards, in to lupine eyes.
"Cain?"
"Aye."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I."
With a cough he spat out one of his teeth on to the ground, the sound of its impact barely reaching his ears. He looked upwards, in to lupine eyes.
"Cain?"
"Aye."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I."
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Ashton Webster
- Regular Poster
- Posts: 412
- Joined: Fri Jan 01, 1999 4:00 pm
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AngryBrian
- Regular Poster
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Ashton Webster
- Regular Poster
- Posts: 412
- Joined: Fri Jan 01, 1999 4:00 pm
some arena master I am!