《Thy Maker》VIII. A Price Unpaid

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The ache in his bones, muscles, and veins was rhythmic. It came and went as if it possessed a mind of its own. Or perhaps, it fed on his own doubts. They swirled like eels in the pit of his stomach. He was forced to focus on his breathing. From here, the apprehension began to swell.

He had faced armies of non-believers, children turned by heresy, unholy aberrations, but this unnamed feeling of encroaching dread troubled him so.

What be this poison that burns away within me? Guilt? Shame? I must be rid of it…for my soul is weary enough without its weight atop my shoulders. Surely the comfort I seek is here.

For the remainder of the ride to Kristantin, these emotions danced about within his skull, folding in upon themselves and eventually focusing into a searing sun of uncontrollable rumination. The more his mind raced, the more intense the misgivings became.

Kristantin was a castle town built on a hill many hundreds of years ago by the F’aldyn Imperials, or so the story goes. Alric seemed to recall his grandfather telling him that only the bare foundations remained from the Imperial fort, so most of Kristantin as he knew it was built by Lacreau in the early Tenth Age. As the eternal push and pull of politics continued, Tritania eventually expanded its borders and occupied the fortress.

The walls turned, dipped, rose, and curled with the headland's flow. No well-designed castle was simply rectangular in form; an effective fortification had to utilise the natural defenses of the land upon which it sat.

Nocht huffed as she strolled closer and closer to the fortified city, the wagon she towed wobbling upon the dirt.

The gatehouse was guarded by a pair of footmen wearing the colours of House Danecaster; quadrants of red and white, with a yellow eagle in the top left quadrant. As they passed by the soldiers, Kent tried his best to hide his face from them.

When they passed through the portal and left the gargantuan shadow cast by the massive walls, Alric's eyes were bludgeoned by raw sunlight. As the disorientation passed, Alric saw the wealth of infantry that manned the battlements. It was clear that due to Kristantin’s proximity to the current battlefront, additional troops had been stationed here by the marshal in charge of mustering Tritan forces. Alric was inclined to believe there were at least four hundred men here. A plethora of soldiers, all with varying levels of equipment based on what they could afford or what was given to them, were awaiting further orders.

Tents had been erected in every clearing in the courtyard to house the wartime garrison. From his youth, Alric recalled Kristantin having a garrison of only twenty during peace. The city itself was policed by volunteer guardsmen with rotating shifts. They were regular townsfolk that worked other trades when off-duty; not as well-trained as professional soldiers, but they were effective.

Before proceeding further, the two companions disembarked their steed and left her in the care of the stable hands. Kent took to unpacking all of his few possessions from the cart, leaving Alric to send his gaze outward.

Despite the overwhelming military presence, the life of the townspeople did not seem to be too affected as of yet. The markets were trading and people of all walks were going about their business. Memories began to surge forth from the corners of his mind; things he had thought long lost. The houses, the walls, the church, some of the people even, suddenly stirred feelings inside of him. He suddenly did not want to be there.

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His fright was halted when he noticed something that was different. On the main street of Kristantin was a dense row of houses that were lived in, used as businesses, or as inns. The locals referred to it as the Stack due to how densely-packed the buildings were. An entire block of the Stack was missing, replaced now with rubble. Most of the structures were replaced by piles of blackened wood, ash, and refuse. Some of the soldiers were helping the townsfolk in clearing all of this debris.

A pair of soldiers came walking along the path, both looking to Alric as they approached. One of them, clearly a Danecastrian sergeant, called to him, “Knight Thestor, good ta see that tha Lord is with us this day.”

Nodding to greet the men, Alric replied, “Praise be, kinsmen. I beseech thee for audience with the Lord of Kristantin.”

The soldiers' eyes wandered, eventually settling on the frantic Kent as he struggled with unpacking at the wagon. “Son of a bitch," the footman muttered.

The sergeant took steps forward as he yelled, "You got a lot of fuckin’ nerve showin’ yer face ‘ere again!"

Kent's eyes widened in fear.

Alric slid himself in front of the aggressor and stated bluntly, "Calm thyself. Kent is under my protection; he has cleansed his soul through repentance."

These words did nothing to still the heart of the sergeant. He hollered at several of his comrades that were tending to the mess at the Stack, causing them to eagerly come to his assistance. "I ask you to stand aside, Thestor. That's an outlaw yer ‘arbouring there," pressed the sergeant.

Kent slowly approached from behind Alric. "N-Now now, there's no need for this," said the scribe.

Suddenly, the Tritans lashed out, barging through Alric. He was sent tumbling onto the mud, seeing nothing but blackness and muck and hearing nothing but his own armour rattling against itself.

Grunting as he sent his eyes upward, he watched as the footmen seized Kent with great ferocity and relieved him of his possessions. All the while, the scribe begged and struggled without result.

The sergeant stood above Alric, hand on the war hammer slung on his belt. "I don't want to harm a man of tha cloth, but know that I'll do what I must."

Alric growled as he righted himself. This disregard for the authority of the Knights Thestor boiled his blood. But clearly...Kent is a wanted man. The only way Alric could help him now was to refute the charges with God's truth.

After surrendering, Alric was escorted by a pair of footmen. A few feet ahead was the group that restrained Kent. Townsfolk looked upon the scribe with disgust and anger.

As the minutes dwindled, swell did the tents that marked the central encampment for the garrison.

The sounds of arrows slamming into training targets, chattering of footmen amongst themselves, and weapons being sharpened at a grindstone overtook most else that Alric's hearing picked up...however little that was due to his helmet clasping his ears.

With the soldiers leading him, Alric passed by the outer perimeter of tents and could now see the sources of the noise he had been hearing. It was a vast sea of Tritan soldiers, men-at-arms, knights, and mercenaries. Occasionally, several peasants wandered through as they transported provisions or weapons to the encamped fighters.

About ten men were seated on logs around a doused campfire, looking as if they were engaging in quite a conversation. Alric recognised the familiar colours of Danecaster, Montefon, Burkwood, Rothsham, and Chalntaine. Montefon and Chalntaine were both noble houses of Lacron, but it was common for allegiances to constantly shift between these closely tied kingdoms. Many Tritans served Lacreau and many Lacron served Tritania. This ambiguity only acted as an example to Alric of how frivolous these political battles were. Society could be so much more if men united and instead sent their attention to their true enemies; God’s enemies.

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It took Alric much longer than he would care to admit to realise that one of these men was a woman. She wore a deep violet houppelande. Its fabric was a dense, heavy velvet and shimmered slightly in the sunlight. Alric was willing to wager that the garment cost more than the provisions in his cart, his weapons, his armour and Nocht combined. The immense drooping sleeves of the dress, as well as its brim, were both tainted by mud. There was no doubt that she was a noble lady thanks to what she wore. But most unlike a lady, she sat with the infantry, paying no mind to how it sullied her dress. Her skin shell was bold maroon and rough to Alric’s eyes.

The conversation came to an abrupt halt when Kent approached. He was thuggishly thrown by his captors into the dirt.

"Look who decided to show ‘is face," snapped the sergeant.

The Lady’s eyes latched onto him. She said nothing.

“Knight Thestor, I present Lady Katheryn Danecaster, master of Kristantin and Baroness of Goldshore," declared one of Alric's escorts.

Alric blinked rapidly in disbelief. Her husband should be lord over Kristantin. Why has she not married?

Kent, on his knees, gazed up at the Lady. "Please, my lady, forgive me! I seek to serve you as scribe once again! I am righting my wrongs!"

Laughter pierced the air, causing Alric to jump. It was a chorus of voices taking pleasure in this pathetic man’s pleas. It only served to aggravate Alric further.

Katheryn raised a hand and with startling quickness, every single voice fell silent.

“Thou shalt do well to avoid such despicable company, Knight Thestor,” stated Katheryn. Her voice was low, confident, and restrained. The way her eyes seemed to tear through Alric's faceplate made him uneasy. Cast aside thy anxieties, Alric. She could not possibly recognise thee. Could she…?

“What is the meaning of this?” Alric pressed.

A knight decided to answer Alric's question. “Brother Thestor, I am Lamar de Montefon, knight vassal of our Lady Katheryn. Bertram Kent was complicit in numerous acts of arson and assault.” In direct contrast with Katheryn’s voice, Lamar's tone was high and melodic. "My only regret is that the rest of the mob that rampaged through our township did not join him this day."

Kent tried desperately to salvage the situation. “I-I wasn’t responsible! There was a leader, he talked to me at the tavern! I was drunk!”

Alric's eyes went ablaze with determination as he came to Kent’s defense. "Kent was led astray from the righteous path by a heretic cult. This unholy band offers human sacrifices to the devil and is still at large."

A footman glanced at the man next to him. “ Heretics, aye? Well...I suppose that explains the dead pig in the chapel."

"Doesn't explain tha piss in the great hall, though."

Alric continued, “He has repented his sins and has since assisted me greatly in hunting these demonists. Thou art compelled to release him for our search is incomplete.”

The soldiers displayed varying levels of internal tension. Alric could tell some comprehended the severity of the situation, while others did not. He looked now to Katheryn.

The Lady of Kristantin peered at Alric’s helmet without the slightest sign of fear. “His soul is now clean, but his hands are not. This man must be held accountable for his actions.”

She stood and nodded at her men. They swarmed over Kent, snatching his arms and pressing them behind his body. One of them kicked over a piece of wood and secured it underneath Kent's head.

"N-No! Please, wait! Please!" Kent screamed. "Don't kill me, p-please! I-I also have news about a Lacron army! They're marching to besiege the city!" pleaded Kent. “A-Alric, tell them!”

Alric did not try to barge through the line of soldiers in front of him, nor did he speak. This situation was infuriating. Katheryn’s disregard of the critical nature of Alric’s mission was dismissive of God’s plan. However, as much as it pained him to admit, it was not void of any Holy Law. Alric’s hands were tied.

"Bertam Kent, thy actions have cost the people of Kristantin a great deal," started Katheryn. "There be homeless and destitute folk within these walls now who cannot be aided due to the great cost of waging war. It is clear that thou art unwilling to accept the charges with honour and integrity. It is this spineless cowardice that I cannot stand to behold." She strode over to the man and unsheathed the bastard sword that was tied about her waist by a gold-plated belt. "I have no place in court for such a creature."

Katheryn raised the weapon above her head, one foot forward and her back poised. She moved with the posture of someone who had trained in the sword and also put it to use as an executioner’s tool on many occasions.

Kent’s voice had worked itself into hoarse shrieks. “Alric! Help me! P-Please!”

Alric frowned. This woman playing at the role of a man has ended my hunt. The Lord will reveal to me another avenue through which to exact his will...but it may take time. I shall shed no tears for Kent; he has repented and thus shall be welcomed through the gates of Heaven.

“Fear not. God shall be with thee,” he muttered with gritted teeth.

The ear-piercing cries came to an abrupt halt when a metallic ‘thump’ of steel against wood interrupted it. Alric knew from experience that it took a certain amount of skill to behead someone with one fell strike. Time had to be spent to gain such a level of proficiency. Time that a woman could spend on things more suited to her place.

Kent’s headless body was kicked to the side as Katheryn elegantly knelt down and plucked up his head. “Perhaps for the time being this will be a suitable recompense for those who lost their homes and livelihood.”

She tossed the head to the sergeant who snatched it out of the air with ease.

Alric ignored her comment and instead brought something else to her attention. “He spoke true of the Lacron siege party. They were encamped at Plisston to muster a force of a thousand.”

The knight, Sir Lamar, nodded curtly. “What...disconcerting news.”

Katheryn said nothing to Alric. As the tense silence continued, Alric eventually grew tired of it.

“I shall take my leave,” Alric started ragefully. “ Know the Order shall be informed of thy insolence.”

“Please, do tell them,” Katheryn replied politely. “And perhaps remind them that the Thestors serve the Church as the plebeians do. They do not speak on its behalf.”

This humiliation of the Order of Saint Thestus was not to be forgotten. It was a mistake to come back here. My pain has not departed me. It has only festered.

Suddenly, a slight pulse of the earth stole the attention of everyone present. It was soft, not the cause of much concern...but it repeated every five seconds. With each cycle, the reverberation grew in intensity.

Katheryn’s brow tensed. Her eyes stared into the sky as she tried to focus on the sound.

“What the bloody hell is that?” muttered a footman.

The tremors began to shake doors within their frames, rumble window shutters wide open, rustle leaves from trees, and scatter weapons that had been neatly lined up on racks.

“Marching troops?” Alric mused.

Katheryn's eyes glowed defiantly as she swept them across her company and declared, “Sir Lamar, Thestor, join me atop the battlements. The rest of thee shall hold fast and await my command.”

The two knights hastily followed the Lady of Kristantin, who seemed to move like a vengeful spirit into the nearest tower and up its circular stairwell. The cold darkness of the tower subsided when the trio emerged on the walls.

The Tritans manning the battlements stared at the vibrating trees in the distance with dumbfounded expressions on their faces.

Alric squinted at the dense layers of forest that swallowed the landscape. A pocket of the foliage rumbled fiercely. This pocket also seemed to move toward Kristantin.

“That is no approaching army,” declared Lamar.

Katheryn remained composed. “An astute supposition,” she muttered ironically.

The holy knight caught glimpses of a shape moving beneath the leaves. A wide and tall silhouette scraped its head against the canopies of the forest. Trees bent and buckled before its might.

A footman shielded his eyes from the sun as he too stared at the moving mass under the trees. “No, no...! Is that an...”

“Ogre,” Alric finished.

Several of the watchmen cocked their heads in disbelief. “Fuck off. Did he just say ‘ogre’?”

“Knew it. Bloody knew it.”

Alric snarled under his breath. Seeing as these monstrosities are rare, this must be the same beast that devoured those Lacron traders. It seems to have wandered from its original path.

Lamar furrowed his brow. “Alas, there was a time when I did not believe in the skeinar... It seems my mind shall be changed once again.”

Katheryn sent her full attention to Alric. “Hath thou experience against an ogre?”

Given her words smearing the Order, Alric did not wish to speak with her any further. He knew though that he must. “I have on one occasion. We could not kill the beast, only drive it away.”

Lamar did not appear to be happy to hear that final sentence.

“Fuck me,” murmured a footman.

The Lady continued, “My people are God-fearing and we are in need. I hereby invoke the terms of the Fourth Attestation. What say thee?”

Alric’s right hand curled into a fist. Never had anyone really utilised an Attestation as if it were a bargaining tool against him. He was being held hostage by his faith. It was a shrewd and manipulative play...not unlike something Kent had tried against him. But this time, with ample men at his disposal, he had no excuse to decline. “I am at thy beck and call,” he muttered begrudgingly.

Katheryn looked at Lamar and commanded, “Make ready the garrison.”

Frantic chaos overwhelmed Kristantin. It was not panic, but rather an urgency that possessed every man, woman, and child of the town. Soldiers that weren’t already armed for battle began to make themselves so and preparations for defense were redoubled. Katheryn quickly collected all of Alric’s knowledge on ogres through a series of blunt questions then vanished as rapidly as she spoke.

Alric himself needed to make ready for the coming fight. He returned to his wagon, swept back the fabric covering and retrieved his halberd from beneath it. Unlike his pollaxe and longsword, the halberd was not a weapon he had owned when he was a noble. Its worn, dirty, and chipped state was testament to that.

As he spun the thing in his hands, he turned around to face the massed lines of footmen clustered about the central portcullis. They were all lightly armoured as per his suggestions; an ogre did not attack with cuts, thrusts, or even blunt force. It just picked you up and ate you. It would’ve been pointless to encumber the men with heavy armour since their agility was their only defense. Despite this thought, Alric was going to uphold the Second Attestation by remaining in his plate armour. Nothing, not even the lives of these townsfolk, would be worth committing heresy.

Sir Lamar stood with the footmen wearing gambeson, mail, and his surcoat. In his hand was a bardiche; a long-shafted weapon with a large axe-like blade at its tip. “Thou art certain that I should not be dressed in plate?”

“Yes, Sir Lamar. Believe me, I will be fighting with a sure disadvantage,” he reassured the young knight.

The footmen were primarily armed with polearms capable of both cutting and thrusting, be it bardiches, halberds, or billhooks. The additional reach of the polearms would allow the soldiers to keep as far away from the monstrosity as possible.

Others, formed in front of this infantry force, brandished ranged weapons like crossbows and slings. Crossbows had a ridiculous draw weight when compared to regular longbows; sometimes, at least three-times the weight.

Most of the crossbowmen and slingers were deployed on the battlements, where they would be able to volley missiles onto the ogre in relative safety. Crossbows had more of a chance at deforming the ogre’s hardy carapace than longbows did, and due to Kristantin being a defensive structure, their low rate of fire was not going to be too much of a detriment.

Alric rolled his shoulders back and asked, “What be the delay? We should be lying in wait of the creature.”

“We are to await Lady Katheryn’s arrival,” stated Lamar.

The holy knight cocked his head. “She is...joining us in battle? Preposterous.”

Lamar frowned. “Tread carefully, brother Alric.”

Before he could press further, Alric’s attention was garnered by approaching mounted men. Once again, he almost failed to recognise Katheryn. This time, it was because he was hardly acclimated to seeing a woman on the field of battle. If they led, they rarely ever did so from the front lines. She was dressed in a hauberk overlaid with her heraldic tabard and an open-faced bascinet helmet. She approached on her steed, flanked by four other mounted men.

Immediately, she called, “We shall deploy in a staggered formation. I shall lead the horsemen, Lamar the right wing infantry, and the Knight Thestor the left. Crossbows shall be formed in two ranks behind each group of infantry.”

She and her mounted men were handed crossbows by retainers as she continued, “Footmen, thou shalt encircle the beast then slash and thrust at the joints behind its knees. Missiles will cover thee.”

It was a sound plan and used all of the information Alric had shared with her about the nature of ogres.

She opened her mouth to begin saying something else, but a cry from the battlements held her tongue. “Incoming footmen! I see the colours of Lacreau!”

Alric’s lower lip curled inward. The Tritans were not armed for combat with the Lacron. Without heavy armour equipped and ill-suited troop composition, the Lacron would make short work of this foe that was equipped like an army of three-hundred years in the past. If they engaged with this enemy, they were to be doomed. “Shut the portcullis. Thou cannot face them,” Alric reasoned.

Katheryn said nothing. She instead continued staring at the watchmen atop the battlements, waiting for more to be said.

Alric started, “Lady Katheryn--”

However, Lamar firmly pulled him back by the shoulder. “Hold thy tongue, if thou wish to keep it,” he whispered sharply.

After what felt to be an eternity, the guardsman reported once more, “They’ve been routed!”

Promptly, distant cries could be heard. They were in Tritish...but Alric couldn’t exactly hear them underneath his bascinet.

“They’re surrendering, my lady!” barked one of the crossbowmen on the walls.

Katheryn cried out, “Prepare to receive Lacron prisoners!”

One of the watchmen in the walls hollered back to the Lacron, declaring acceptance of their surrender. The footmen gathered at the portcullis split apart to allow passage, but had their weapons at the ready. Swallowing, Alric watched the open gateway.

Eventually, a tattered group of dismounted Lacron knights, infantry, and retainers came desperately hurrying toward Kristantin. They were covered in soot and dirt. As they passed through the gateway, they tossed down their weapons and raised their hands in submission. One man was of particular note to Alric. It was Gaspard Triou. The commotion distracted the Lacron knight and he did not spot the Thestor among the Tritan defenders.

Triou halted before Katheryn, hands raised. "We submit to your will, Katheryn the Unbending. A...A faceless beast pursues us without relent. Please, grant us entry and we shall assist you in defending the castle.”

Katheryn scoffed. She waved at one of the town guards and commanded, “To the dungeons. Quickly.”

The guard nodded and was momentarily accompanied by a dozen of his comrades as they rounded up and violently herded the Lacron prisoners toward the dungeons. Triou scowled at Sir Lamar as he was herded away. “Traitor,” he spat.

“I spotted many familiar nobles in that lot. They shall make fine subjects for ransom,” declared Lamar.

Katheryn was not in the mood. “Shut up, Sir Lamar.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Alric settled into formation with his wing of infantrymen, then following Katheryn’s orders, filtered out through the portal and into the wood. The mail worn by his compatriots jangled as they marched through the fallen leaves. The trembling of the earth was so incredibly powerful that Alric swore the ground was to give way at any moment. Be this the gait of the ogre, or be it the fury of the Father in lieu of Katheryn’s hindrance of his vengeance?

Then he saw the trees part before him, like how the clouds parted before the sun’s rays. Thick bands of rooted wood folded like rolls of paper, splintering and uprooting in the wake of such unfathomable power. Alric saw the rhombus-shaped body of the gargantuan ogre ploughing apart the forest as it crept forward on its four pillar-esque appendages. As it approached, he beheld Hell itself within its gaping mouth; a red and orange inferno that craved the taste of his flesh.

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