Sanctuary (Dominion) (2 page)

Caenwyld walked out after them, and when that door closed behind him I'd never felt more helpless, worthless or alone in my life.

Please, Lord! Do not forsake us! Do not forsake her!

I began to cry. I don't know why it took so long, but the realization that I could do nothing, or would do nothing, caused me to break down into tears. Despair filled my soul, and I wondered why I expected anything different. This was the way of the world. Perhaps Caenwyld had been right. Perhaps God's glory really was with him that day.

But then I heard a scream. A man's scream.

It came from just outside the front door, and the room immediately became still and hushed. The raiders with me listened carefully for another sound, but none came. They started to smile then, probably thinking that some unlucky villager trying to reach the church had fallen, and my hopes fell even further.

Then the door flew open, and a man walked in. He wore a long, brown woolen coat, a wet, mud-smeared linen tunic and brown wool trousers with worn leather boots. His straight black hair fell down past his shoulders, and a thin beard covered his grim face. He was tall, with a warrior's hearty build and the steady gait of a prince, but nothing else marked him as regal save for one thing. In his right hand he held a brilliantly decorated and polished long sword, covered with streaks of blood.

"Who tha' hell are you?" one of the raiders shouted.

The man walked halfway across the room and stopped, staring at each of them in turn. He looked my way last, the knife at my throat capturing his attention. I didn't think much of it at the time, but he barely glanced at the bodies scattered about the floor except to step around the ones that had fallen in his path. If he did notice them, he didn't show it in his cold, distant eyes.

“I am called Arkael," he said, his voice clear and deliberate. "You have brought darkness to a holy place. By my oath, I will see it cleansed.”

At first, no one spoke. Then one chuckled, and another laughed. Even the brute holding me down give a few hoots.

"Cleansed?" The first raider spoke again, a huge smile on his square, bearded face. He took a few steps forward. "Now wouldn't that be a pretty sight. The one o' you and the three o' us. How about instead, I gut you, cut off your hands, stick out your eyes, and then make off with that pretty little sword a' yours?"

Arkael watched them without a hint of emotion. If he was afraid, worried, cautious, or even amused, he didn't show it. If anything, I'd have guessed he looked bored.

"I’ve no doubt that your soul is damaged," he said, with an air of disinterest, "but you are not the one who brought me here today. Free that man," he glanced at me, "and leave this place, and I will spare you.”

I watched him in awe, staring like a love-struck child. I had prayed to God for help, and this man, Arkael, appeared. I didn't know if he could save us, or if he even had a chance against these three mercenaries, but for a moment at least, I believed.

Aedre screamed again, muffled this time.

“Help her!” I shouted, hoping I hadn't put my faith into a madman. I was rewarded for my outburst with a solid thump to the top of my head.

"Shut up!" the brute said, no longer amused.

The first raider also tired of the game. "Grab his hand! He loses a finger for every word he speaks from here on," he told my captor, who pushed my face into the wet floor and pulled my left arm up behind me, grabbing my palm in one meaty hand and pressing the knife against my pinky. I grunted in pain but I didn't dare speak. The raider turned to Arkael. "And you, if you don't toss that sword over here and leave, we'll pry it from your dead hands. And we won't be gentle."

"So be it," Arkael said, with a hint of disappointment. He held his weapon ready. "The sword is yours if you can take it."

The other two raiders stepped forward cautiously. They were arrogant, but they weren't stupid. Men who carried swords like the one Arkael had in his possession usually knew how to use them. But their caution made little difference. The first raider lunged forward, and so help me God the only thing my eyes saw was Arkael's sword plunged into his gullet. I never saw the parry, or the counter-thrust, although I think I heard the echo of blades clanging together, but to this day I'm not convinced I didn't make that sound up only because I expected to hear it. Arkael pulled the sword free and the raider fell to the ground, his eyes bulging, his body twitching, and blood pouring out from his wound.

It took several moments for anyone else in the room to realize what happened, myself included. But as soon as I was able to convince myself that I'd just seen that man die, I watched Arkael step forward and do exactly the same to the second. I was ready for it this time, though, and I witnessed what could only be described as the will of God. His arm struck forward with the speed of a snake, like those I saw in Rome who could snatch a mouse in their jaws faster than the eye could follow. The same happened here. I only saw him as a blur.

The second raider fell to his knees, and then collapsed to the ground, and Arkael turned, fixing his gaze on the brute holding me down. I felt his strength wane, and he let go of my hand, and then the dagger fell to the ground, clanging off the stone.

Arkael motioned to the front door with his sword.

"Leave," he said. "Now."

The brute fled, and truth be told, I wished I could run away with him, because I was now alone with a man I suddenly feared more than the raiders. I'd imagined him to be a champion of God, but something in me wondered if that was what I really wanted. I’d just seen him kill two seasoned mercenaries without so much as a breath of exertion, but now I wasn’t sure he wouldn't do the same to me. They'd deserved to die, but couldn't I say the same of myself? Had I not failed in my duty by letting these men kill everyone in the church? I let Caenwyld walk out that back door with Aedre, and I never raised a hand to help her because I feared I might lose it. He’d never even threatened my life. That’s how weak I was in the face of this ordeal. Perhaps this was my punishment, for today and for all my other sins.

Fear paralyzed me as he approached, and even though he walked past without a word or a glance, I still expected him to turn around and plunge that sword into my back. I didn't relax until I heard the back door open, followed by his soft footsteps on the grass outside. I sat there, unsure if I should wait or follow him out, so I just listened, hoping he'd at least arrived in time to save Aedre's honor, and do that which I'd been unable. I heard a crash, and the sound of wood cracking. That was followed by a loud grunt, a cry of surprise, another crash, and then a scream. Aedre's scream. I hurried outside
, and w
hat I saw lifted my spirit
from the depths
.

Caenwyld lay in a heap in the corner of the goat pen, not dead, just winded. The other raider sat in the opposite corner, knocked on his backside, fumbling for his sword. Aedre covered herself with her ripped shift, her face red and swollen from being struck several times. She scooted back, away from the others. And Arkael stood in the center of the pen, his sword ready, facing Caenwyld.

"Stand up," he said, and Caenwyld looked up at him with a fury I'd never before seen in a man.

"How dare you," Caenwyld growled, his face red. "How dare you! I will have you burned alive for this!"

"I know what you are." Arkael took a step closer, and Caenwyld recoiled. His eyes shifted, too, from anger to fear. He grabbed hold of the wooden post next to him and pulled himself back onto his feet.

"Who do you think you are? Do you know the penalty for striking me?"

"I am Arkael. I've come to send the darkness in you back where it belongs."

"Kill him," Caenwyld barked to the raider. "Kill him now!"

The raider had his sword out, but Arkael turned his head sideways, just enough to see him from the corner of his eye, and the raider hesitated. I don't know what held him back, but he made no move to attack.

"Why are you waiting? Do it! You saw what he did to me!"

He lowered his weapon meekly, and Arkael turned back toward Caenwyld, confident that he'd won that battle.

"You have no recourse," Arkael said.

"No," Caenwyld replied, breathlessly. He was cornered, alone, and terrified. I had no sympathy.

"You are touched by the demon. Your soul is tainted, and it cannot be saved. Not by me.”

“No.” Louder, this time.

“But through your death, another will be free. It is my path, not to repentance, but to forgiveness."

“NO!” he screamed. It was the last word he ever spoke.

Chapter 2

Arkael pulled his sword free from the priest's narrow chest, revealing a thin, red-stained hole in his brown woolen robe, the only evidence of a wound that penetrated straight to the heart. Caenwyld's body slumped to the ground, his hand grasping his chest, but he made no sound. He didn't grunt, or scream, or even whimper. He just fell, slowly, onto a thin stack of hay in the corner of the goat pen, his mouth still open in protest and his deep, hateful eyes locked on the valiant figure standing over him.  

I stared at him far longer than was proper, caught at first by the surreal mystery of the scene, but it was Caenwyld’s eyes that held my gaze firm. I'd seen a wretched, foul evil in those eyes, enough to frighten me into terrified obedience. But when I looked at them now, they were sullen and lifeless. In fact, Caenwyld’s entire face seemed drawn and thin, and as his final breaths escaped his lips I wondered shamefully how I’d ever been afraid of such a weak old man.

I closed my eyes, only for an instant, but when they opened again I realized how quiet and still the world had become, as if God himself ground everything to a halt so that He could ponder the death of this terrible man. The sluggish silence lasted only long enough for me to know it was there, though, and almost immediately after, the world returned to life with a start and the sounds of the village assaulted me with stunning clarity. The wind gusting around the corners of the church and rustling the timbers and hay. Dogs barking and chickens cackling in the distance. The screams and wailing of women and children. The roars and grunts of the raiders. My own shallow breaths. I heard clearly the sounds of murder, rapine and destruction coming from the unseen village on the other side of the church, and each cry of anguish lingered about me, a brutal reminder that we were far from safe.

"Take her inside." The sound of Arkael's voice snapped me back to reality, like waking from an incredibly vivid dream, and like waking from a dream, the details seemed to fade just out of my grasp as the real world flooded back in. I remembered Aedre and I moved to help her stand, ignoring the nauseating dizziness that briefly washed through me, as if I'd stood too fast. She sat almost completely naked on the ground nearby, shivering from the chilled air, clutching the ripped remains of her shift around her torso. I tried not to look directly at her, pretending instead to watch the last remaining raider, who stood docile in the corner of the goat pen, somehow aware that his life hung at Arkael’s discretion. Arkael noticed him too, and waved him away with his sword. The raider obliged, hopped the short fence and ran away in the direction of his fellows. He deserved far worse, I thought.

“This way,” I said, hurrying to open the back door for her. Aedre wasn’t crying anymore, and as she passed Caenwyld’s body she spat on him. Her foot twitched, and I think for a moment she contemplated kicking him, but she held back. He would have deserved it, though. The man was a monster and he would find himself in a special place in Hell.

The church still stank of wanton murder, only it was worse now after having left and come back. I wanted to cover my nose, but that seemed disrespectful to Aedre so I tried to ignore the stench while fighting back the urge to retch. I surveyed the scene, and remorse filled my soul. Bodies littered the floor, most of them women related to Aedre or to her betrothed, all of whom had been cut down mercilessly. The raiders never even made an attempt to kidnap any of them. Selling the women as slaves at markets in Frankia would net them a small fortune, but that thought never seemed to enter their heads. They’d just swarmed in with their weapons ready, cutting down everyone who dared to be offended by them. It was almost as if they came into the church specifically to defile it.

Aedre’s clothes, the ones the raiders delighted in removing, lie scattered on the floor, and I helped her round them up. She took her dress and a brown woolen shawl she’d been wearing, both of them stained with blood, and moved to the back corner to slip them on, while I looked away. I avoided the question of what happened outside. Truthfully, I hoped I wouldn't have to broach the subject, as it wasn’t my place to ask. Her mother should deal with that, but her mother was dead. Her father, too. She had no family left to comfort her, or counsel her about any of this madness. I shook my head, just now understanding the tragedy she had endured. This morning, she was to be married, surrounded by her old family and her new in a joyous celebration. Now, she was completely alone in the world.

Arkael followed us inside and strode to the front of the stone altar, which was still draped in white ribbons and covered in lilies and tulips for the wedding. He waited there, unmoving, holding his sword tight in his hand, his eyes locked on the front door, which shuddered from the wind. The sounds outside were muffled, but hearing them made me feel guilty, like I was a child hiding under a bed to avoid facing my fears. My fingers trembled, anticipating the carnage still to come. Thirty or forty raiders still roamed freely outside, and there was little doubt they were now hearing all about the bold swordsman who dared to defy them at the church. That wouldn’t sit well with men used to taking what they wanted. They would be here soon to see just what this swordsman was made of. A question I wondered about, too.