Everliving Kings (the Heroes of Darkness Saga) (3 page)

The Sheriff frowned in confusion, “Sir Robert? I thought he was still in the Holy Lands.”

“Oh, no, oh I mean yes, he is but no not that one, the other Sir Robert, his son I mean. He has just returned from the Holy Land.”

The Sheriff
shook his head in confusion, “So tell me then I pray thee, why is young Sir Robert here and traveling with a priest and a prisoner?”

Sir Guy frowned again, “Oh no he is no priest, he is a friar, Brother James I believe he said his name is, but I said the same thing. Isn’t that funny? Well I am sure it happens all the time him being a fr….”

The Sheriff cut him off with a shout, “Guy, I don’t give a damn if the Pope and the Queen of Spain called him a priest, I just want you to tell me why they are here!”

“Who the Pope and the Queen of Spain? No I think you may be confused because they are not here, at least I didn’t see them, cus
’ if I had I would have counted them.”

The Sheriff let out a long breath and squeezed his forehead in frustration before trying again. “Gi
sbon, did you ask them why they are here?”

Sir Guy’s eyebrows shot upward, “Oh yes, they said it was just a prisoner transport and not
hing to worry about. They left the prisoner here with us as Lord Rathbone went on up to Edinburgh. He had a paper with him, let me see…” he mumbled as he dug through his belt pouches, “ah, yes here it is.” He said as he handed the parchment to the castle Lord. “It is signed by King Richard and was affixed with the royal seal when I opened it.”

The Sheriff read over the document with a glance, which turned out to be nothing more than a promise by the King, for safe passage and welcome treatment at any of the Kings holdings. “All right,” he said as he tossed the document aside in favor of
the newly arrived dinner rolls. “So this prisoner, what has he done?”

Gisbon’s eyes went wide in horror, “I…I don’t know mi
Lord” he stammered.

The Sheriff paused in his chewing and let his shoulders slump. “You didn’t ask did you?” he watched the blood flush the young man’s face red before continuing. “Guy if we are holding a potentia
lly dangerous criminal under our roof then don’t you think we should know what he is capable of?”

Sir Guy first nodded and then shook his head as he spoke, “Yes mi
Lord, but the prisoner is in the dungeon, not under the same roof. I mean actually this floor would be the roof any prisoners were under, so we are not under the same roof anywhere. Oh, yes well we could if we went down to the dungeon level.”

Sir Guy was spared another verbal lashing by the timely arrival of the Sheriffs dinner.
Between bites he said, “Guy I need you to fetch me Sir Robert so I can … welcome our guest properly, then you will go down to the dungeon and speak with this prisoner. You need to find out who he is and why he is here, after that you can start collecting the King’s tax. Can you do that for me?”

Sir Guy paused in thought with a frown before agreeing and rushing off. “Were he not my sister’s charge
...” The Sheriff thought to himself with a shake of his head.

The truth be told Sir Guy of Gisbon, middle son of
Lord Alfred of Gisbon, was once considered a child prodigy. He displayed an enormous gift of language, art and music at an early age, only to be reduced to a simpleton after being thrown by a horse. Since the accident Guy has occasionally shown flashes of the brilliance of his youth, but without stern concentration his mind would fog over in confusion once more.

Before long a wide eyed young man of fifteen or so was led by a servant to the sheriff’s table. “My
Lord High Sheriff.” The youth said with a bow.

“Ah Sir Robert, you honor my house with your visit, please no need to address me so formally my name is
William Brewer, please call me William.” He said as he waved his guest to sit. “I must admit I was surprised to hear of your visit Sir Robert, I do hope all is well with you and your dear father?”

The young man bowed his head in thanks, “Oh yes and quite well thank you for asking my
Lord. I am here at my dear father’s behest, traveling with Lord Rathbone, to lend aid and comfort to him as needed.”

Lord
Brewer raised his eyebrows, “Really Sir Robert? Aid and comfort in what respect?”

The young nobleman leaned closer to his host as if to share a secret. “Well
you’re Grace, it has to do with Vampires!”

The Sheriff let his shoulders slump just a bit afraid he were being made the butt of a very bad joke. “Sir Robert really, I think you can trust me with the truth, there is no need for silly
peasant rumors.”

The young man’s
eyes went wide in horror, “Oh no my Lord! I swear it is true! I have no cause to deceive you, although I do understand your doubt. The prisoner we traveled with is one so afflicted, a young woman named Anya. She is the daughter of Lord Rathbone, turned undead in the holy lands. I myself heard her mocking our true Christian faith; she even claimed to have met our Lord Christ in Judea.”

Brewer frowned at the boys ramblings, “But then she would have to be over one thousand years old.
Surely this must be some kind of desert madness making her believe such wild tales, would you not say Sir Robert?”

The young
Lord almost jumped out of his seat with excitement, “Oh no you’re Grace, it is all true I do swear it! She even killed one of the guards this very morning by draining him of all of his blood. One of his comrades told me he watched the whole thing! They had to cut the head off of the poor fellow and burn him all so he would not rise again! Is that not amazing you’re Grace?!”

It was clear to the Sheriff that his young guest was convinced a monster was lurking in the du
ngeon. “Yes, amazing and bloody well impossible. Come now Sir Robert, you are far too old a lad to believe such wild flights of fancy and magic. Now if this Risen creature is indeed the daughter of Lord Rathbone then wouldn’t he also be over one thousand years old? I don’t know what games they are playing with you Sir Robert, but I will help you get to the bottom of it. Now to prove it to you...” He said as he called for the captain of the castle guards.

“Captain Norris here is my most trusted
man; he will tell us the right of it. Now good captain, Sir Robert and I were wondering what you may know of the prisoner that arrived here this morning?”

The captain bowed his head affirmative and
said, “You mean the witch Sir?”

The seated pair exchanged looks before the Sheriff demanded an explanation.

“Well Sir, she killed one of the guards that traveled here with them. I didn’t see it me self but them that did was pretty shook up by it. I did hear the screams and I did help them to burn the body of the poor devil she done in. Won’t be soon enough to get that witch out of ere’
you’re Grace.”

Brewer frowned at the man in shock. “Are you mad man or just drunk?”

“No Sir, not me Sir. Ten year sober I is Sir. Tis all right an’ true me Lord every word of it.”

The Sheriff had known the man long enough to know
he was no liar, but shock still numbed his mind. “So you mean to say captain that we have a thousand year old mystical Risen creature in the dungeon, and she has already killed one man today? Yes?”

When the guard agreed Brewer jumped to his feet and shouted. “And nobody thought this i
mportant enough to tell me when I got here!? My god man you are getting as bad as…” at that the Sheriff’s eyes went wide as he realized who the next victim of the ancient blood draining monster would be. “…GISBON!” 

3

Anya could hear the shouting and the stomping of running feet long before they reached the prison level. When the party did crash through the cellar door they found the lady Anya and Sir Guy seated to one side and engaged in a game of cribbage.

“Gisbon!” the sheriff shouted as he stared in disbelief. “What in the hell do you think you are d
oing?”

“Oh my
Lord, well we are playing cribbage, oh,” he said rising from his seat as he remembered his manners, “My Lord High Sheriff may I present the lady Anya. My lady Anya, may I present Lord High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire and Devonshire, Sir William Brewer.”

In response Anya stood and
curtsied, as a lady should.

The Sheriff held up his right hand to signal the guards to leave “Yes, so I have heard. Gisbon, would you be
as kind as to allow me to welcome our… guest alone for a few moments?” he said through a smile.

“Oh, yes of course my
Lord. My lady if you will excuse me.” He said with a bow causing Anya to curtsy once more.

“Oh
my dear Sir Guy, please do visit me again.” She said with a fang filled smile.

Guy blushed and bowed again before following the guards up the stone steps, leaving the Sheriff and the
Vampire alone to get acquainted.

“My lady Anya, I have heard many disturbing rumors about you.” The Sheriff began.

“Oh no my Lord, they are not rumors, I am indeed a killer, a monster…whatever you would like to call it.”

“If you are indeed some age old
Risen, then I am confused as to why you are still here? Is it not true you could just smash this door off of the hinge and kill us all before flying off into the woods?”

Anya smiled and shook her head, “No I am afraid I can’t fly.”

Brewer dropped his smile at the threat but allowed the Risen to continue.

“I am still here because I promised friar Tuck I wouldn’t kill anyone else today. Tomorrow however is still open for discussion.” She said with a shrug. 

“And what then does Lord Rathbone know of you? Is he truly your father?”

Anya shrugged, “That may be the name my f
ather uses now, I don’t really know. I do know that is not his given name. In any case he knows all about my condition, and most likely more than I do. Just a friendly warning, when my father does return I do plan on killing him and anyone else who may be in the way of that. If you value anyone here, send them away before he returns.”

The Sheriff scratched his beard in thought, “Were you not captured by him? He must have some hold over you or you would not be here.”

“Actually,” she said with a grin, “The friar is here. With his help…well we will see.”

“Just why would a monk want to help a mi
nion of darkness?”

“Oh I didn’t say he wanted to, I just said he would. I am now sure he was the one who cast the binding spell on me
and helped to defeat me and my Moors in the holy land. I am just as sure that he had no idea he had done anything. Until today my father had kept him far enough away from me, so I could not be sure how I was captured. But now it is all clear to me. Because he is both powerful in his magic, and ignorant of his own ability, I will have his help, all I need do is ask.”

  The Sheriff frowned at his unusual prisoner. “You led Moors into battle in the holy lands? That hardly seems likely.”

Anya gave him a slight nod of her head and smiled before saying, “Allah allu ackbar.
The Arabs think I am a Jinn, a female demon who feeds on the blood of those who are corrupt of spirit, rapists, child molesters, infidels, Christians, you know the worst of the lot. They believed the great God Allah had sent me as a messenger to them, to help drive the Jews and Christians out of Jerusalem. They were so happy to see me and follow me into battle… I didn’t have the heart to tell them otherwise. Just like you have not told the people here of your experiences in the holy land, have you?”

The Sheriff’s right hand went instinctively to the short dagger at his belt, but before he could co
nfirm or deny her statement, she continued.

“That dagger is called a Jaymbya, the color of the sheath and the
number of decorative stones shows the station of the owner and in the secret language of the Assim, the nature of the owner as well. Those are not just given to infidels so, either you picked it up off of a corpse or you won an honor duel. I noticed you are missing two knuckles from your right hand, one each from pinky and ring fingers. That plus the red sheath rules out grave robing, so that means you won an honor duel in the holy land, but only after you watched your men be beheaded in front of you. The finger chop tells me you betrayed your men by surrendering, that act of cowardice robbed them of the right to die in battle. You being the noble were at least given the chance you stole from your men, to die in battle with honor. So have you told anyone here that tale?”

The Sheriff frowned again saying, “You don’t look like a Moor, but you know their ways.”

“I was born in Persia…well, before it was called that. My father’s tribe however was from the north lands. So tell me Sheriff, did you enjoy watching all of your men be beheaded in front of you? Did it convey the sense of shame and guilt it was meant to? So often a message as subtle as that gets lost in all the gore.”