Prologue
PROLOGUE
Year of Our Lord 1268
Kennington Castle
"M ercy, my lord!"
"I cannot show you mercy."
With that, the knight rammed his enormous broadsword into the man's neck, straight down so that it carved into his chest cavity.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
The knight who had killed him made the sign of the cross over his victim.
"I give you Absolution, my son."
From his right, a man charged him, tripping over the bodies that were already littering the ground. As he faltered, he was close enough that the knight was able to slice him through the neck with his bloodied broadsword. As the man fell to the ground, the knight made another sign of the cross over him.
"I give you Absolution, my son."
Absolution was a legend that day. The longsword of Torran de Serreaux had a reputation almost as much as the man who owned it. The enemy knew about the knight who was moving through the battle and killing with a sword that was as long as it was sharp and deadly.
Absolution was its name.
And the knight was giving his enemy Absolution.
Overhead, a nasty storm had blown in. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed as Torran worked his way through piles of the dead and dying. He wasn't interested in those men—the dead because they were beyond help and the dying because they would have to explain their loyalties to God, and he didn't want to interfere with that. Absolution was for the able-bodied, men who were still fighting in a futile situation. Those were the men who needed Absolution the most because they didn't know that they had been beaten.
Torran would absolve them for the sin of pride.
It had been a nasty battle at the mighty bastion known as Kennington Castle, and it wasn't over yet. The lord of Kennington was a supporter of Simon de Montfort, who had been killed about three years earlier. Henry, King of England, was fully in control of his country and of his destiny with the death of de Montfort, and he had ordered those loyal to the Earl of Leicester to seek out the warlords who had opposed him and punish them.
Kennington was part of that directive.
The royal army had been busy over the past three years, rooting out the enemies of the Crown. They had been systematic in their destruction and on a cool October day, they had marched north from London, gathering more troops at royal outposts as they went, before they finally ended up at Kennington. They were joined by several other allied armies that had been summoned, including the Earl of Canterbury, Daniel de Lohr, and the Earl of Radnor, Davyss de Winter. The unfortunate fact was that Anselm St. Albans, Earl of Ashford, had been a de Montfort supporter. A big supporter. His family, a very old family, had made its money in import and export. They weren't merchants, but they owned ships that merchants paid to have their goods transported on, so Ashford had a good deal of wealth to put behind de Montfort, something Henry was particularly upset about.
Therefore, Kennington had to be taught a lesson.
Henry wanted what Ashford had.
That was the punishment.
Although the royal army had a commander in an older knight by the name of Luc de Lara, Henry had sent his entire personal guard into the battle as well. Torran and five of his closest companions, only these weren't just any companions. They were Henry's private attack force, men who not only protected him, but who also acted as spies and assassins, leaders of armies, and anything Henry wanted them to do. They were some of the most elite knights in England, highly skilled, highly experienced, and they were involved in Henry's business perhaps more than even Henry himself.
The Guard of Six, as they were known, took Ashford's support of de Montfort personally. Ashford had been a supporter of Henry at first, but somehow, de Montfort got to him and extolled the virtues of a country managed by men and not simply by a king. Ashford fell for those dreams, like a snake charmed by a snake charmer, and he'd taken his army and his money to de Montfort's side. Ashford had been a friend the men in Henry's circle, so when he went to de Montfort's side, every one of those men felt betrayed.
Now, Ashford was paying the price for that betrayal.
Kennington Castle was the heart of Ashford's earldom. It was the target set by Henry himself and it took three days to not only decimate the countryside, but to weaken the gatehouse. Kennington was a concentric castle, meaning it had two sets of walls—an enormous exterior curtain wall and then a smaller interior wall. The portcullis for the exterior wall had been partially breached because they'd managed to heat the iron with a pyre of flaming debris that softened it up so much that they were able to twist it. That created an opening through which the royal army was able to slip, but when they were through, they saw that Ashford's army had retreated to the inner ward.
That started the siege all over again.
The inner gatehouse did not have the iron portcullis that the outer gatehouse had. The inner gatehouse had two enormous wooden gates that were made with great iron rivets holding the wood together. There was also an iron frame built around the gates but it wasn't nearly the strength of the exterior portcullis and, therefore, when they started a pyre against those gates, it was only a matter of time before the wood caught fire and the iron began to soften.
In a panic, Ashford's men had come over their own wall, descending into the outer bailey to stave off the complete collapse of the inner gatehouse. That had been a sight to see as soldiers lowered themselves over the inner wall and attacked the royal army. Unfortunately for them, the royal army was much larger than they were and that mode of defense was over before it really got started. But, somehow, Ashford's men still kept coming and the royal army realized it was because they were coming from the postern gate. All of them, flooding out to defend the inner gatehouse.
Torran wasn't exactly sure who was leading the battle for the Earl of Ashford because it seemed that in the beginning, someone who knew what they were doing was handling it, but into the third day, it seemed as if there was little organization at all. Anyone with any manner of military training would not have allowed men to go over the wall into the enemy, or open the postern gate, so as the third day began to wane, the royal army could sense victory.
But it was victory at a cost.
There were many wounded and many dead, and most of them were from Ashford's army. As the storm overhead let loose, pounding the earth with sheets of rain, the blood from the dead and the wounded mingled with the mud and created rivers that looked like rust. This rusty mud was all over Torran's boots as he stood just inside the outer gatehouse, watching that activity on the inner wall. He was determined that the battle would be over by sunset because it was clear that Kennington was falling. He didn't want to risk any more men than he had to if the battle was almost over, but he also wanted decisive victory, so he'd ordered his men to charge the inner gatehouse. One way or the other, they were going to capture the castle.
"Torran!"
A shout came from the behind him, and Torran turned to see one of his dearest friends in the world approaching. Sir Yancey de Mora, a knight with the House of de Winter, was coming through the twisted iron, lifting a hand to Torran as he approached. But Torran waved him off as if disgusted by the sight of him.
"So you come when victory is assured?" he teased. "Get out of my sight, Yance."
Yancey grinned. He was tall and lithe, a bright mind and an even better sword arm. "Who do you think burned that portcullis?" he demanded, turning to point at the smoldering ruins that were now being pounded by the rain. "Who do you think inspires the men? Not you, de Serreaux."
"Not you ," Torran said, pushing back. "They see you and laugh."
"They see you and drink."
Torran quickly conceded the point. "True enough," he said. "Fear will do that sometimes."
"Fear and annoyance."
Torran cocked a dark eyebrow at him, watching Yancey chuckle. "You think you're so clever," he said snidely. "Very well. Show me how clever you are. Get through that gate and claim this place in the name of Henry. I am tired of waiting and would genuinely like to sleep tonight, and I cannot do that if this castle does not fall."
Yancey grinned brightly. "So you call upon me?" he said. "Of course you would. Only I can force this place to its knees. Well? Get out of my way, you dolt. Let me show you how this is done."
Torran snorted at the man when he moved past him and shoved him in the chest, not hard enough to really move him but enough to be irritating. He stood there, shaking his head at Yancey as the man slogged over to the inner gatehouse in about six inches of orange mud and began shouting at the men trying to keep the flames going in the rain. As Torran watched Yancey redirect the men, he caught a glimpse of someone standing beside him.
"So he's trying to take the inner gatehouse once and for all, is he? I have to see this."
Torran turned to Kent de Poyer. He was part of the Guard of Six, a very big man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a brooding personality. As Torran nodded in resignation to Yancey's antics, more of the Six joined him.
All of them, in fact.
Torran found himself looking at men he had lived with, and killed for, for several years. Men who were closer to him than brothers, all of them with intrepid spirits, honorable hearts, and souls that were perhaps more tortured than most.
But he wouldn't make a move without them.
Aidric St. John was the first one he saw, tall and blond and with fists that struck an enemy like hammers. Dirk d'Vant was by Aidric's side, another big blond knight with a full beard, a quick wit, and a voice that could boom commands across half of England. Jareth de Leybourne came strolling up, carrying a longsword that his father had given him long ago, one that was allegedly hundreds of years old and stolen off a Celtic demigod. Jareth was their diplomat, but even he hadn't been able to negotiate any manner of surrender with Ashford.
The last member of the Six was Britt de Garr, a knight with curly brown hair that flowed down his back. He kept it tightly bound up for battle, which was a good thing considering he was always in the heat of a fight and hair would only get in the way of his flying sword and vicious tactics. With his addition, now all of the Guard of Six were standing in front of the inner gatehouse, watching Yancey work the men into a frenzy as they began smashing through the burned sections of the gate.
"And now we are at the end," Britt said, watching the battle for the inner gatehouse. "Has anyone seen Ashford? He was on the outer wall when we arrived, but no one has seen him since."
Torran shook his head. "Nay," he said. "I was thinking the same thing earlier—I've not seen him since we arrived."
"Mayhap he is dead," Jareth said. "There would be no other reason for a man to disappear like that."
"Possibly," Torran said. Then he began to look around, noting a group of Ashford soldiers that had been subdued by royal troops. "Speaking of a missing Anselm St. Albans, it seems to me the tactics changed for Kennington midway through this fight. Did anyone notice that? At first, they were tightly bottled up, and then…"
"And then they came rushing out," Jareth finished for him. "I saw it, though I genuinely have no idea why they should do that. They opened themselves up to defeat when they came forward. When one's castle is being attacked, one does not open the gate and invite the enemy in."
Torran nodded. He found himself looking up at the inner wall, where soldiers were moving around frantically. Perhaps Ashford was up there, somewhere, keeping himself concealed. Rain was pounding him in the face and he had to wipe his eyes more than once. He thought he saw a child, or children, on the wall, but with the rain, he couldn't be sure.
But no Ashford.
"All I know is that I am increasingly weary of this," he finally said. "Aidric, where are the rest of the commanders? De Lohr and the others?"
Aidric looked over his left shoulder, down the long curtain wall of Kennington. "The last I saw Canterbury, he was to the rear of the castle, at the postern gate," he said. "De Winter was with him."
Torran returned his attention to the inner gatehouse. "And de Nerra is up with Yancey at the gatehouse," he said, referring to yet another earl in their midst, Becket de Nerra, Earl of Selbourne. "Aidric, send for de Lohr and de Winter. I want them here when we breach the gatehouse. But make sure they station men at the postern gate to catch anyone who runs."
Aidric nodded, heading off down the long wall. He always moved as if he were hunting something or someone. As Aidric went to find the Earl of Canterbury, Daniel de Lohr, Britt, and Jareth strolled toward the gatehouse as Yancey screamed orders. That left Dirk with Torran, watching the activity.
"Jareth is aching to use that sword on someone again," Dirk said. "He says Annihilation needs blood to keep it alive."
Annihilation . The name of Jareth's ancient sword. Every member of the Guard of Six had a sword with a name, something that defined the weapon, giving it a sentient soul that was hungry for warfare. Some men called it superstition, some a curse. But the Six believed that the swords they carried were partners in positions they found themselves in. Guarding a king was serious business.
It required a serious partner.
Torran grinned to Jareth's comment.
"So I've been told," he said. "Annihilation requires blood, Obliteration requires flesh, Insurrection requires fear, and so on. It's what feeds the steel beasts."
Jareth looked at him. "What does Absolution require?"
"Souls."
A smile played on Jareth's lips. "Then it has been fed well today," he said. "Now, shall we join de Mora and the others at the inner gatehouse? I suspect it is time to breach the inner sanctum of Kennington."
Torran nodded. "Breach it," he muttered. "Purge it, control it. It is time. I grow weary of fighting in this weather, seeking a man who would have done us all a favor had he died at Evesham with Simon. A pity he did not."
Jareth couldn't disagree. Together, they moved toward the gatehouse just as some of the men were able to wrench some of the smoldering wood from the iron frame, widening what was already becoming a man-sized gap. There were men on the other side of the gate who very much didn't want anyone to get through, so there were swords poking through the gap at the invaders.
That brought the Six.
It became a sword fight at the inner gatehouse as more of it was wrenched away. There was now a significant gap, and Yancey was the first man through, using his sword on any resistance. The lure of the inner ward and the keep were in his line of sight. In fact, he was hypnotized by it. He managed to fight his way through soldiers who were crumbling to him and those who came behind him, clearly already sizing up the keep because that was the last holdout.
"Torran!" he shouted, turning to see if his friend had come through the gap. When he spied the man slicing through yet another Ashford soldier, he waved him on. "Come with me! Hurry!"
Torran had to shove a dead man out of his way, stepping over another one in his path, before he was able to get through the gap.
"Wait a moment," he called. "There may be more resistance waiting. Wait until we have more men."
Yancey laughed at him. The man turned to the keep once more and began to walk toward it. In doing so, he came out from the protection of the gatehouse, out into the very small inner ward. Torran was looking at him when something came down from the wall, straight onto Yancey's head.
The man fell like a stone.
Startled, Torran shoved his fist into an Ashford soldier to move the man out of the way so he could get to Yancey. He could hear Britt and Jareth behind him, mostly because they were ordering Ashford soldiers to stand down. Torran went right to the end of the gatehouse where it opened up into the small inner ward and reached out a hand, grabbing Yancey by the foot. That's how close the man was. He pulled him back into the shelter of the gatehouse before flipping him over so he could get a look at the man.
What he saw shocked him.
Yancey's head was grossly distorted on the top and in the front where the projectile hit him. Shocked, Torran looked at the object that had come down on the man where it rested several feet away and realized it was an iron pot that had been filled with something. It had hit Yancey, fallen to the ground, and then tipped over. It took Torran a moment to realize that he was looking at a spill of dirt and rocks.
The dirt and rocks had made the pot quite heavy.
Fighting down his panic as men began to move past him into the inner ward, he put his fingers under Yancey's jaw, feeling for a pulse, but he couldn't find one. He quickly moved to assess the damage to the man's head and, after a few sickening seconds, realized that his skull had been crushed where the pot had hit him.
Yancey de Mora was dead.
"Torran?" Britt was beside him, reaching down to grasp Yancey's arm. "We must take him back to the wounded. The men are starting to enter and there will be another fight here shortly with the remaining Ashford men."
Britt was pulling, but Torran stopped him. "There is no need," he said, his tone dull with shock. "He's dead."
Britt's eyes widened. "What?" He dropped Yancey's arm and went to his knees, checking for breathing, for a pulse, a heartbeat. Anything. But he, too, came up empty and looked at Torran in horror. "Christ's Bones, Torran. What happened?"
Torran was quickly reverting to the efficient knight he'd always been. He wasn't one given to emotion, not even with his friends, and especially not in battle. Men died in battle. Friends died in battle.
Weeping wasn't going to bring them back.
"An object came down off the wall and hit him in the head," he said, pointing to the pot. "That iron cauldron, full of dirt and rocks. Enough to smash his skull."
Britt closed his eyes briefly in horror at the realization. "And he was not wearing his helm."
"I doubt his helm could have saved him."
"Do you want me to find out who did it?"
Torran almost declined. After all, it didn't really matter, did it? Yancey was dead. Finding the culprit wasn't going to bring him back. But there was something in him, perhaps the part of him who had loved Yancey like a brother, who wanted to know. The more he thought about it, the more enraged he became.
Rage that turned deadly.
"Aye," he said, standing and heaving Yancey's body up. "Find out. Slay anyone who lies and tells you they do not know. I shall return him to de Winter and then come back to see how you have fared."
Britt helped Torran put Yancey over one broad shoulder. Men were pouring in through a big gap in the broken gates now, so Torran pushed through as men were rushing in. Britt watched him go for a moment, feeling a genuine stab of grief because he genuinely liked Yancey, before forcing that down and resuming his battle mode. Kennington was almost won and he wanted to be part of it.
But first, he was going to find out who had killed Yancey de Mora.