CHAPTER THREE

Assassins at the Door

Three years ago, when he'd left the Crusades, Gareth had made the decision that he never wanted to pick up his sword again. Ordainment had not been difficult; as someone raised in the Faith, by the Faith, it took little more than a few vows and an affirmation by one of his old teachers to become a priest. The priests hadn't been aware of the missions and battles their pupils had been on. It hadn't been the jobs of the priests to train the soldiers for battle, but rather, ready their souls for their inevitable departure. He prayed that tonight would not be his time.

There was a knocking at the front doors of the church. Gareth's jaw tightened and he glanced at the candles burning on the altar.

Not yet. It can't be now.

He remembered that the candles had been burned exactly halfway down before the assassins had come for him last time, and they still had a short way left to go.

An eerie silence filled the church, punctuated only by the heavy knocking. It was as if the Creator himself was holding his breath.

"Mary, please take this, I'll see who it is." Gareth handed the young woman the ladle from the stew and wiped his hands on a cloth. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his fists and went to the door. When he pulled it open, the candles from inside lit the visitor's face golden, and it took Gareth a moment to realize who stood outside.

"They are five minutes away."

Gareth's pulse stuttered for a moment, then he reminded himself who— what— it was that was standing before him. The demon had taken the form of an attractive young man— human, or human enough to pass. He was wearing a simple shirt and long leather trousers with sandals on his feet. Feet. Not hooves. Gareth blinked.

Fydelis smirked cocking his shoulder "Like what you see?"

Gareth swallowed hard and lifted his gaze to the glow of torches coming over the rise in the hill.

"That will be them," Fydelis said. "Go inside. Grab a knife. Tell everyone to stay inside— to be as silent as stone— then lock the door and come to meet the murderers outside. I'll be waiting." He grinned, a flash of sharp teeth, then turned on his heel and sauntered away, his hips swaying as he winked over his shoulder.

Gareth's heart hammered in his chest, making him feel dizzy as he moved in slow motion down the center aisle, back towards the altar of the church. He almost wondered if knowing what was coming was worse. His stomach rolled, acid filling it, cold and oily with dread. Now he knew the cost of failure. His eyes drifted to each one of his flock, remembering the sounds of their screams, the way the blood smelled, and the horrified looks on their faces as they were slaughtered; how helpless he was to do anything. A light sweat broke out on his forehead, but his blood felt like ice.

"Mary, get everyone to the altar. Keep them silent, and don't come out until I come for you." Gareth heard himself speaking, but his body moved as though he were dreaming. He glanced at the candles and nausea burned up his throat. They had gotten to the halfway point. In his imagination, the red wax smelled like burning flesh as it dripped down the tapers like blood.

"Father Gareth?" Eva, the little girl whom he'd watched raped and murdered a few feet from him— whose violation he would have to watch all over again if this didn't work— ran up to him, clutching his robes. "Is something bad going to happen?"

Gareth forced his muscles to stay rigid so that he would not tremble when he offered the most reassuring smile he could manage and touched the child's warm cheek. "Everything will be fine, Eva. Please, go with the others. Help keep the younger children silent. I'll be back for you all soon."

Numb, with terror he turned, his hand catching the corner of a table where he found a knife. Had he had time to consider it, a bread knife wouldn't have been his weapon of choice, but there was simply no time. As he walked towards the door, Gareth felt something inside of him surge, growing like a fever from his core.

"I'm here," Fydelis said in his brain. "Let's do this."

Gareth's body heated with blood, yet his heart and mind were suddenly still. He was a warrior. He would protect these people. Regardless of whether it was Empyrean or Abyss that had offered him a chance at redemption, this he would not squander.

He left the church just as the jangle of bridles from the killers' horses reached the empty square. He turned his back upon them for just a moment to lock the heavy church doors, murmuring a quiet prayer.

"No need for that," the demon told him with a small chuckle.

By the time he turned around, the assassins were dismounting a few feet from him. Everything had happened so quickly before that Gareth hadn't had the chance to count out how many of them there were, but now he had his answer. Fifteen. Fifteen powerful, bloodthirsty cutthroats, armed with heavy, metal swords, and here he stood with only a bread knife and the assurances of a creature he couldn't even see. But it was more than he'd had last time. The last time, he'd had no warning save for the screaming as women and children were cut down in the doorway and the church went up in flames.

"Give them a chance." Fydelis teased in his brain, his mad glee evident. "Tell them to leave and forget they ever saw you."

"Leave this place while you still can." Gareth heard the words leaving his lips, nearly without his conscious thought to release them, but stoicism turned him to stone. These men would not pass.

An ugly grin spread across the face of the man he assumed was the leader. "You've turned in your Crusader's metal for a cleric's knit… but I can assure you, righteousness does not a shield make." Then he let out a roar and his troops surged forward.

The power inside of Gareth mounted until he felt that he might explode unless he expended it. Something white and hot like fury grew larger in his chest, spreading through his bones; making his muscles seem to catch fire under the surface of his skin. Each breath drew in cool air and he exhaled with the power of a scream. Gareth reached for the leader, grabbing him around the throat and crushing his windpipe in the same motion. Two of the men coming up from behind him yelped as Gareth swung the body around, using it to knock them aside. He suddenly realized how much smaller they all seemed, and how he towered over them, his body rising to block the doors to the church. Ribbons of deep red light limned his muscles, and everything in the world came to a near halt but for him. Propelled by the thunder of his own heart, he struck out with the knife, neatly slicing through the belly of one of the men drawing his sword. He took the sword as the man fell, then used it to cut a bloody arc as he pushed the remaining murderers farther back from the church. Blood pounded in his ears, and Fydelis chanted softly, counting down the seconds in Gareth's brain as he powered through the bodies that appeared to be standing still.

The world became a blur of blood and vengeance. The screams of the dying men rose like a choir in the darkness as their torches fell to the earth, extinguished by gore and sand. Blades never touched him, as Gareth whirled and charged with a righteous power not born of mortal reckoning. "One left." The whisper came to him, calling time back to its normal rhythm.

"P-please! M-mercy!"

A man scuttled on the ground, cradling his right hand that was barely attached. Gareth slammed the blade down into the dirt beside him as his feet touched down on the soil once again.

"He begs for mercy, but remember… remember little Eva… he would show her none." Fydelis's words were an angry hiss in his brain.

The man was young— probably a recent recruit. Gareth didn't remember him specifically from the massacre in the church, but knew he had to have been there in some capacity. He crouched down, and the strong scent of urine burned his nostrils as the man whimpered and raised his hands. "Who sent you?"

"M-m-m-m-m'lord… p-please!"

Gareth slammed his fist into the ground near the man's thigh as he leaned forward, his face close enough to see the man's pupils alternately constrict and dilate in fear. "Who. Sent. You?"

"K-Karathis! General Karathis!"

"Karathis…" The name was metal in his mouth. Gareth pulled open the man's armor, making certain he had no hidden weapons before pulling him to his feet.

"What are you doing? He'll go back and tell this Karathis person where you are!"

"He won't," Gareth said coldly. "I shall offer you mercy but this once. In exchange for your life, you will stay and help these people." The young man's knees buckled and he would have fallen had Gareth not been holding him up. He broke into pitiful, gulping sobs, but Gareth continued.

"You shall atone for your sins and those of your associates."

The man nodded; snot, spit, and tears made a slimy trail through the blood on his face.

Gareth became aware of a smaller shape moving up beside him as he felt momentarily light-headed. "You are a fool, Gareth," Fydelis said from his left. The man Gareth dragged alongside him let out a yelp of surprise to find that they were suddenly not alone.

"Aye. I believe that has been established before this point. This is my battle, demon. I decide who lives or dies."

"Is that what you think?" Fydelis squawked, coming to a halt with his hands on his hips.

Gareth ignored him, dragging the man with him to the doors of the church. "Mary," Gareth called out. "It's Father Gareth. It's safe now, I'm unlocking the doors."