The Trinity of Heroes (I Will Protect You Book 1) (29 page)

Before the Knights could turn in the slimy ooze, the Sangres were on them, pummeling them with super-human strength. The Sangres ripped their limbs off and crushed their skulls. The Sangres flung their mutilated bodies into the air, discarding them like rotten food. They held others under the muck, drowning them as they struggled violently for air. Their furious kicking in the muck as the last ounces of their life slipped away was the only sound to remind those still alive that this nightmare was real. Once every member of the contingent of Knights had been slaughtered, the Sangres slipped back into the ooze, waiting for their next opportunity to strike. The courtyard was paralyzed with the loud screams and cries of death.

The remaining Knights, Mayor Flint, and other bystanders in the courtyard shrieked in fear. The force of Hailian Knights, the greatest defenders in the lands of Veronicia, had been publicly massacred. The Sangres hadn’t just defeated the group of Hailian Knights, they had destroyed it. Easily. In seconds. The Knights’ training proved irrelevant and insufficient, their swords unable to permanently injure the murky beasts.

“Flint, I will give you one chance and one chance only!” Razzius declared. “Bow to me and I will make your death quick and easy. I will not make you watch as I burn your precious city to the ground!”

“In Sora’s name, Razzius, what have you done?” Flint pleaded. “You have lost your way. You were a great Knight. Why would you do this?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation!” Razzius shouted. “Haile is mine!”

Flint drew his sword. “I will never bow to you, Razzius!”

“Hahahaha,” Razzius laughed. He raised his gnarled hands in the air, summoning his army.

The muck bubbled ferociously, responding to its master’s call. Hundreds of thousands of Sangres rose up from the muck, snarling in unison, their howl filling the skies, scaring birds and beast alike throughout the surrounding wilderness. They covered the castle courtyard and spread out throughout the town. Shrieks of terror and pain grew louder and echoed throughout the city.

The Hailian Knights knew the citizens stood no chance. Their own resolve began to waver at the sound of the deaths of those they had sworn to protect. Sangre Brutes moved effortlessly to destroy buildings. The Sangres moved with such ease, the humans were overwhelmed. Chaos reigned everywhere. The Sangre Brutes went to work destroying the barracks. Their punches packed devastating force. The training grounds were obliterated in seconds, debris flying about with incredible velocity. The usually steadfast Hailian Knights panicked in the sight of immense destruction and death. They broke rank and stumbled haphazardly in every direction. They were easy targets for the Sangres. But death would be too easy.

“Let them live, do not kill them,” Razzius commanded to his army. “Capture them instead. Take them to the castle’s dungeon, where they can rot away to nothing!”

Flint turned to Lawrence and ordered, “Lawrence, get your mother out of the city, she has suffered enough. We will survive. You know what you need to do, Lawrence. Seek out the one man who may be able to help us. You must find your father.”

Lawrence hesitated at first, unable to fathom leaving his beloved Elsie and the rest of the city in their most dire hour. But upon a second reassurance from Flint, he grabbed his mother by the hand and they slinked through the commotion that was all around them. They went unnoticed long enough to mount a nearby horse. The steed struggled and resisted Lawrence’s attempts to control it at first, but upon some more urging it seemed to understand that Lawrence was offering it an escape attempt. It broke free from the muck and galloped toward the cavernous opening that represented their closest exit. The Sangres reached up from the ooze and clawed at the horse’s hooves, but the steed was not to be denied its freedom. Lawrence swung his sword wildly at the Sangres that stood in his path, cutting them down. His slashes stopped them only for an instant, but that was long enough for the stallion to gallop past them. Elizabeth clung to her son with all her remaining strength, knowing full well that if she fell off the horse she would doom their chances of escape. The Sangres growled in disgust that they were unable to stop Lawrence’s determined ride. The stallion burst through the north wall, rearing its head, neighing in victory. Lawrence tugged on his horse’s reigns and they headed to the west. He would ride around Haile and down to the Endless. He prayed to Sora that the rumors of his father’s whereabouts were true.

Meanwhile, Benni, in spite of orders to defend Knights Runn, tore through the muck on horseback, headed to his own home. As he rode, he swung his sword crazily, cutting down countless Sangres in his path. He looked out over the city and saw nothing but devastation at every turn. The Sangres were everywhere, at every residence and shop. They tolerated little resistance from the citizens, beating them mercilessly if they didn’t submit to capture. These scenes of inescapable, unstoppable violence caused his stomach to churn; he desperately wondered if his family was alright. As he approached his home, he saw several Sangres pounding down the door. He saw them breach the opening only to be cut down by an enraged Nicholas.

“Come and get some you sons of bitches!” he roared, cutting most of them in half instantaneously. “Come on, I got more where that came from!” He noticed Benni approach and yelled, “Benni, get out of here!”

As Benni raced closer, he saw Fairen squirm past the Sangres and hobble out toward him.

Nicholas screamed, “Get Fairen out of here; your mother and I will do what we can, just run! Ride east, past Alacrecia, then once you crest the third hill enter the small forest there. It is in that forest that the bandit Clan of the Unyielding Flame resides, seek out Cranos Wakewood. Seek out your real father!”

The Sangres reformed and surrounded him, pummeling him over and over as he struggled to fight them off one last time.

“You ain’t so tough; there ain’t a one of you that can stand toe to toe with me!” Nicholas thundered as he finished them off yet again.

Benni stopped mid-motion, hating that he knew that Nicholas’ words were true. He wouldn’t be able to single-handedly defend his city, or its citizens, from Razzius and his army. He turned to ride off to the east, out of the city. As he did, he watched one of the hulking brutes approach his house. He was repulsed at the thought of Helen and Nicholas dying by the ungodly hand of that beast, but he knew there was nothing he could do to help them anymore. He rode toward the eastern exit of the city with a heavy heart; he had just left his guardians for dead. All his life Benni had thought that Helen and Nicholas were his real parents, and now, in the darkest of hours, he had learned the truth. His real father was a bandit named Cranos Wakewood.

Benni felt like a miserable, yellow-bellied coward as he fled from his family and his city on horseback. He had defied the orders of the mayor, left his city in its time of need, and failed to save his family. His thoughts were clouded with self pity and despair over the inner-turmoil of his decision. If he stayed in the city he would have most certainly been killed, or worse, captured and tortured. But he had wanted so desperately to fight back, to at least go down swinging. Fairen was his only respite from the crushing, inescapable grief that consumed him. Benni glanced down at the young boy, his eyes filled with innocence and hope. Benni needed to save Fairen, and he needed to find his father.

Chapter 35:

The night is nearly upon me now, and it is growing cold. I don’t know how much longer I will last. I can hear the ravenous howls of predators stalking me, awaiting my demise. I have built a small pile of kindling and sticks, but have thus far failed to ignite them. My situation grows dire.

- Journal of Mason Hex, Undated

Galvan heard the screams and he knew the warning bells were no drill. His daydreams were abruptly interrupted, pierced by the magnitude and multitude of the cries that seemed to emanate from everywhere in Haile.
Catherine!
He left his fishing gear and struggled to crest a large hill overlooking Haile, hoping to gain some insight into the commotion. But where was his energy? Why did he feel so sluggish?

The sight in the city terrified him. Massive, fearsome creatures had overtaken the city, turning the capital of Forme into a battleground. The city was covered in black, disgusting muck. Its citizens were being beaten, shackled and chained, led toward the castle. He watched the Knights cut down the beasts, but they just reformed! They were unstoppable, relentless. He feared for Catherine’s safety. Would these creatures destroy Alacrecia and other surrounding villages? Who was their leader?

But he had little time to ponder. One of the beasts had spotted him and was gliding toward his position. It howled, signaling to its brethren to follow it toward its quarry. The group of four grotesque monsters slid quickly and effortlessly toward Galvan. He traced runes in the air, recited his incantation, and cast a fireball. It engulfed the lead Sangre, burning it, melting it away. Galvan noticed it did not reform, as those had that he had seen cut down in the city. But Galvan was exhausted, and unable to focus enough energy to cast another spell. The three remaining Sangres closed in on him.

Galvan panicked, knowing he had little hand to hand combat skills and that he wouldn’t be able to fend the three monsters off if they surrounded him. He summoned the last of his strength and retreated down the hillside, racing toward the forest that the stream passed through. The Sangres gave chase. They tore at his robes, but Galvan remained just out of their grasps. Galvan had to think fast, he was inches from being caught. He grabbed a large, dead pine branch, and flicked his fingers, causing just enough of a spark of energy to ignite the dry needles. His own survival instincts gave him a momentary burst of energy. He launched the tree bough with all his remaining might. The beasts couldn’t react in time to dodge it, and the fiery wood slammed into the three Sangres that pursued him, engulfing them in a fiery blaze.

Galvan collapsed on the ground, praying that no more of the beasts had followed him. He lay still for a moment, hidden in the forest, afraid that his heavy breathing would give away his position. After his nerves calmed, he sat up against a large stump, comforted for the moment that he would not be attacked again. He pined for Catherine, wondering if she had survived the onslaught. There was a faint glimmer of hope in Galvan’s mind, however. Maybe his sorceries could prove an effective offense against the unstoppable beasts. But he couldn’t go to Haile alone, not like this, with no support. He needed the other sorcerers from the Everglen. He stood up, fueled by adrenaline, and worked his way south.

Chapter 36:

One night, while Arthan stood outside of his home, he saw a beam of light shoot down from the sky and crash into the top of the mountains that separated Forme from Melde. Arthan, being the curious lad that he was, made haste to the spot at the top of those mountains. Once he arrived, he saw something grand. A mighty blade stuck up from a pedestal of foliage adorned with flowers and blossoms, glowing in the moonlight. Arthan retrieved the sword and held it high into the night sky. Suddenly, he was struck by a lightning bolt. As he lay unconscious on the ground, Sora herself spoke to him. She told him to unite the good in the lands of Veronicia against evil and protect those who were unable to protect themselves. She told him of how there would be those who would shun him and those who would join his cause. This was the beginning of the Knights of Haile.

- Excerpt from
The Legend of Hailestorm

Haile was destroyed. The emblem of the Silver Shield had been toppled. There were barely any buildings still standing. The citizens that had resisted the Sangre army lay dead, by the hundreds, in the streets. Ravens and vultures picked at their carcasses, cawing in ecstasy at the abundance of food. No house had been untouched, and hardly any still stood at all. Barely anyone had escaped the onslaught. The black army spread through the city so rapidly that the citizens, whether aware of the threat or not, were subdued easily. Their ankles and hands were shackled and they were led like slaves toward Knights Runn.

Razzius wanted the feeble, the old, the sick out of his way, and out of his mind, as he was preparing to destroy the other cities and villages of Forme. They were thrown into the dungeon, left to rot. Those who looked useful, strong, and able were now his slaves. He ruled them with an iron fist, demanding inhumane amounts of work and toil from them. They were made to care for the castle, be his and Phillip’s personal servants, and erect giant monuments of their leaders. The Sangres kept a watchful eye, striking down any thought of rebellion with cruel, ruthless haste.

Razzius’ first order was to destroy the barracks and that damned Hall of Heroes. He would not have any reminder of the Knight Guard, or its legacy, in his capital! The members of the Hailian Knight Guard worked around the clock, not protecting the city as they had sworn to do, but rather demolishing every remnant of their heritage. Sangre Brutes kept a watchful eye on the Knights. Those that defied Razzius’ orders were beaten mercilessly. In place of the great heroes and great warriors of the past, they were forced to build monuments to their captors. Giant iron and stone statues were constructed, during every hour of the day, and placed throughout the collapsed city. Razzius forced the talented painters and artists of the city to do sprawling, elaborate portraits that were to be used in construction of the House of Grimm. This glorious gallery of fine paintings would immortalize Razzius and his accomplishments for all time. The only intact construction in Haile was the castle’s living quarters and the giant tributes to its conquerors.

But all these things paled in comparison to Razzius’ greatest triumph: his dominion over Flint Pyre. Razzius had taken Maggie Pyre to be his personal attendant, warning Flint that it would be her quick death if either one of them did not do exactly as instructed. Razzius worked Flint harder than anyone. He gave the mayor no breaks, little water, and even less food. He worked him until the famished man collapsed from exhaustion. But Flint loved his wife, and he could not let her down, let her be left alone in this hell. Flint had to survive, had to do whatever he could to make sure that Maggie wasn’t hurt. Razzius slithered in a sinister glee as Flint himself, by Razzius’ command, struck the opening blow to demolish the Hall of Heroes. Flint carried the old portraits of the famous ex-Knights outside the city walls and piled them high. Razzius’ eyes gleamed with pride as Flint lit the fire that burned the visual history of the Hailian Knights. Razzius delighted in his sweet revenge, resting his feet for five straight hours on Flint’s hunched back while he was immortalized in a grand painting for his own House of Grimm. His ears rang with elation whenever Flint addressed him by his proper title: “My Lord.”

Phillip had regained his place within the castle walls. He could roam freely about it once again. And this time neither the Knight Guard nor Mayor Flint would be there to ruin it. It was like a homecoming for him. He sat on the mayor’s velvet-covered throne, ate at his table, bathed in his marble bath, and slept in his enormous, silk covered bed. His journey to his rightful place was almost complete. But he needed her, needed the object of his desire.

He recognized her immediately amongst the citizens. After all, how could he ever forget her beautiful face? He wasted little time, plucking Elsie from the throngs of captured citizens like a man buying a piece of cattle. He had handpicked her to be his personal attendant. He led her into the castle, and bathed and fed her. Phillip touched her gently as he dressed her in the finest silk gown.

Elsie cowered, knowing that it was a charade. She obeyed Phillip’s commands begrudgingly, only because they were constantly watched by Sangre guards.

Elsie’s insolence grew with every passing moment, however. It was a storm brewing, churning inside of her. She couldn’t believe that Phillip had returned to Haile with such hatred in his heart. And Razzius… She tried not to think about Razzius.

“Elsie,” Phillip commanded, “come here and get on your hands and knees so that I can rest my feet on your back while my portrait is being painted for the House of Grimm.”

To Elsie, there was no request lower than this. To be a
footrest
. She could not,
would not
succumb to this. She would rather die. “No!” she answered sternly, defiantly.

Phillip was taken aback at her refusal. “What?! I am your Lord, I am the reason you do not lie with the rest of the dogs in the prison! Get over here this instant and do as you are told!”

“No, Phillip!” she screamed. “I will not be a piece of furniture!”

“You insolent little bitch! Fine! You don’t deserve a spot in my castle!” Phillip grabbed her arm and led her toward a group of Sangre guards in the throne room. They shackled her hands and ankles. “Let’s see how you like your cell!” Phillip proclaimed. He marched her through Knights Runn to a great barred door guarded by two Sangre henchmen.

Elsie was a strong, brave young lady. She had listened to her father’s battle stories of his days in the Knight Guard. She had witnessed much as the mayor’s daughter. Yet as she looked into Phillip’s cold eyes as he dragged her to the dungeon, she finally realized true doubt that she would survive.

Knights Runn often used the labyrinth of hundreds of cells and torture chambers that stretched below the castle during the Great War, but they were mostly bare and empty during the peace of the last twenty years. The cells had sat in silence, awaiting the day they would feast on the incarcerated once again. Phillip and Razzius were their chefs, and the feeble, hungry, captured citizens of Haile and its surrounding towns were now their meal.

Few descriptions of the deepest, vilest recesses of Hell could describe what Elsie witnessed as she was led, hands chained behind her back, and ankles shackled, down into the castle dungeon. The stairs descended into a dark, damp abyss, lit only by Phillip’s torch. She didn’t need her eyes. The putrid smell tinged her nostrils first; it was suffocating. Then her ears sustained the nightmare. The screams were unrelenting. The wails from those that lay moaning, begging for just a small ration of sustenance, reverberated throughout the labyrinth. The screech of diseased rats echoed down the long, stone maze of corridors. Her skin crawled with goose bumps, the damp, cold air ensnaring her in its icy grasp. She had tasted the freshest fruits and vegetables the lands had to offer, but never had her taste buds revolted in the sickening, choking disgust of death as they did now. Famine reigned supreme. The cells were big enough for one, maybe two or three adults when crowded, but the citizens of Haile were forced into the confines like stray animals. They could barely turn about, as they stood shoulder to shoulder, shackled together for the remainder of their days.

“Phillip, please, I beg you,” Elsie pleaded, tears filling her eyes. “Think of what you are doing. Please stop this madness!”

Phillip’s eyes were blank, void of humanity. He didn’t respond, but shoved Elsie along. Funeral processions were no more somber than their pace. Phillip’s torch flicked about, lighting the cells for an instant. Elsie cringed at the unspeakable atrocity that unfolded in the shadows. Many of the elderly were already dead, their bodies decaying amongst those who still clung hopelessly to life. The dead were lucky, though. Those who weren’t dead looked like shivering skeletons with skin tightly draped over their exposed bones. They were wasting away, barely able to move. Their own bodies were destroying themselves from the inside. Many had survived the Great War with Ghast, but they could not survive the insatiable, indefensible attack of hunger.

Elsie began to whimper as she turned her head, the emotion of the horrors she had witnessed too much for her to withstand.

Phillip shoved her menacingly down the long hall, reveling in the power trip he was on.
If she doesn’t want to be my servant, then fine, she can join the swine
! He had joined Razzius for revenge against this pitiful city, of course, but he had longed to gain back his position of prominence, like when his family was welcomed in every village in Forme. Even if it was over the weak and feeble, in a dark and unholy place, he still welcomed the taste of victory. And he had Elsie all to himself, in the reclusive sanctuary of the castle dungeon, with no one to meddle in their relationship.

He marched Elsie farther and farther away from the pleas of the other citizens, bringing her to her own private cell. He unlocked the door. It creaked open, audibly inviting its guests inside its vacant confines. Elsie’s chains jangled noisily as Phillip shoved her hard against the cold stone wall at the back of the cell. Elsie caught the torchlight dancing off Phillip’s black eyes. They gleamed with lust. He pressed toward her, pushing up against her, breathing heavily against her exposed neck. Phillip pulled her hair back and licked her cheek, keeping his tongue on her as long as humanly possible. He kissed her violently, making grotesque sucking sounds.

Elsie cringed, and her entire body stiffened. She begged him to stop as she whirled around like a crazed maniac, attempting to flee. She screamed hysterically as she hobbled about, the chains clasped on her ankles thwarting her attempt to escape out the still open cell door.

Phillip laughed as he toyed with her. On fair terms it wasn’t out of the question that she could stand up to him. Phillip was always secretly scared of her, but not in this condition. Elsie was chained, malnourished, emotionally drained. She possessed no power to deny him.

Phillip grabbed her and slapped her across the left eye with a hateful rage that was born from the fact that he knew, deep in his black heart, that he could not have her by choice, and that he could not make her succumb to his will. The force whirled Elsie about in a stumbling semi-circle. The sound crackled throughout the cells, muting the pain and agony of the other captives. He turned her toward him and hit her again, harder this time, straight on across the jaw, splitting her bottom lip in a nasty gash. Phillip threw her violently to the ground.

Elsie almost blacked out from the needles of pain that exploded throughout her face. She lay on her stomach now. She couldn’t see out of her left eye, the swelling completely obscuring her view. She could taste the salt of her blood as it poured out of her mouth. Her heart raced as her brain struggled for a way out. She gasped for breath, knowing full well that she may not live if this beating continued. She grunted as she clawed at the ridges in the stone floor, trying to muster enough strength to pull herself out of the cell before Phillip could continue the assault. She heard the sounds of his boots as he waltzed around her prone body. He stomped her fingers with the heel of his boot. Elsie cried out in defeated agony as she retracted her hands to the safety of her bosom. Phillip bent over her and tore like a rabid animal at the silk dress that loosely covered her body. He stripped it away easily and flung it to a dark corner of the cell.

Elsie lie naked now, her wet, damaged hair scattered all around her head. Her whimpering had mostly stopped now; she was too weak, too drained to utter even the faintest of sounds.

Phillip held up the torch, illuminating Elsie’s slender, petite figure. Her radiant body contrasted against the dark, chipped stone floor. This was the first time he had ever seen her naked, and quite frankly, it terrified him. He hesitated for a moment and stood in silence. He had her, to do with as he pleased, yet now he was plagued by fear and uncertainty. This feeling of failure, even though there was nothing and no one to stop him from succeeding, enraged him even more. He cursed at the top of his lungs as he kicked Elsie in the ribcage. She gasped for breath, spitting and sputtering blood and mucus in her futile attempts to refill her lungs. He placed the sole of his boot across her cheek and pressed down hard, rocking his foot from side to side. "Not so high and mighty now, are you?” he yelled. “This is payback for embarrassing me in front of the Knight Guard all those years ago!”

He forcefully pulled her up by the arm, her body slumping limply. "Go on, call out for your hero,” he whispered into her ear. “Call out for Lawrence Sanctus! Then you'll see, he isn't coming to save you! You are nothing more than a possession, a tool to continuing his blood line; he doesn’t care about you at all! Despair, Elsie, I am your new lover now!"