Eastwards, he took them. Nary a thought to hold Seonag gently, and never with any real consideration for her feeble struggles to break free, so that he seemed as unmoving as the large mountains he had likely sprung from. Cold as a winter night, and even icier than a glacier, he had eyes but for the horizon before him.
He was escorted by a mere three men, and had selected them with great care. When he had heard the commotion outside, he had commanded that the castle be sealed off, the doors closed, and the women were to be kept in the main hall. He had certainly hoped to have his way with both Seonag and Augustine; however, the difficulty was that the women-folk had clung to one another, and that his men had panicked. Certainly, they were familiar with plundering and assailing the countryside, and were pleased to have taken the castle; however, they had at once plundered the wine-cellar and wished to raid the treasury. Both of which were quite well-stocked, with their chieftain, in spite of his hopes, struggling to regain control of the situation.
None of those he had brought with him were among his best men. They were those Knights and warriors he had at hand, those whom he trusted and liked most and knew he might need in the coming battles that lay ahead of them. He was Vifombre, and he was as eternal, and would not allow for Pierre to get the better of him, as Augustin had gotten the better of the Knight of Vifombre from nigh on forty years prior.
The forest, long a place of mystery and darkness and suspicion to a great many of the local people, was one that Vifombre travelled with a thorough knowledge that might have impressed his prisoners if they were not so utterly distracted by their own distress. Their alarm as he journeyed through the forest, nary a hint of hesitation to show in his disposition, or those of his men, served only to worsen their sense of alarm.
This could only bode ill for them, both of them must have thought. Not that their thoughts in this regard particularly interested him, not when he had far greater things to worry about. It was with a sense of satisfaction, though, that he noticed they had begun to fall silent. Both women watched with a growing sense of trepidation as he travelled among the trees with a familiarity bred from habit.
This was to add to the alarm that Seonag and Augustine felt then. It happened, though, that Seonag had considerably greater experience with this sort of event, so that though she was stricken with fear, she still persisted in looking about for some means of escape. It was with thorough dissatisfaction that she noticed how the grip of her captor was like iron.
Seeing her eyes move about, and how she did not shriek and wear herself quite so much to the bone as Augustine had, the large man watched her almost curiously. In spite of the great desire that had entered his gaze, there was a certain respect that also crossed into his glinting eyes.
This sentiment of respect, though, was hardly shared by the woman herself, who studied him with contempt and loathing along with nervousness. Her dark feelings were only to worsen when he muttered confidently, "You scheme to escape already, I can see that, dear lady. I must admit to having a great deal of admiration for such a quality in a woman. One might be tempted to wonder if it is not you, the noblewoman, and that foolish girl there, the peasant."
"Mind your tongue! None may insult noble Augustine with impunity!" Seonag snapped at him, glaring at him with the sort of fury and anger that could have frightened even the most hardened of warriors.
There was, however, little one might say was ordinary about Vifombre, so unique, so peculiar was he that she felt certain he might react in the worst possible manner towards Augustine. Quite why it was that he showed little in the way of fear or apprehension about his 'defeat' at the hands of Pierre that she felt nervous, over possibly offending him.
She need not have feared, though, as the 'knight' simply shrugged his shoulders, preferring to spur his horse on faster. It was with more than a little frustration that she realized she had yet to disturb the incredible calm that clung to him just as a cloak might another. He was almost serene, such was the strange confidence he seemed to feel in the face of their cries, entreaties, and threats.
It was this serenity of his that most frightened her, and that made her pray all the more that Salomon, her brother, and Pierre might hurry to their rescue.
"Look yonder, dear lady! Look yonder and tremble! For there lies my home, and the home of my ancestors and the home of all those who have sworn themselves to me in days past… and soon it shall be your and the Lady Augustine's home, and that of our children!" Vifombre crowed happily as he pointed one large gauntleted finger at the great green keep.
"Never!" Seonag growled at the same time that Pierre's eldest daughter did, no less resolved to have nothing to do with this sort with Vifombre.
Despite their fear and their loathing for him, though, they both could not deny a certain fear and wonder at the fortress that seemed to glare back at them, through the foliage. Neither of them had in all their years ever seen its likeness, so strange, so peculiar, and so unique was it.
The fortress that stood at a distance within the forest was an unusual keep. It was certainly large, it must be admitted, but not very high. Cleverly hidden among the trees, the stone fortress was not very high and was painted green so that it might blend in with the trees' leaves. What was more was that it was twenty meters long and wide. Destroyed more than thirty years after Augustin II d'Arvois had torn his way through it to rescue his beloved only son and heir. The fortress ought not to have still been standing; the most alarming part about the fortress, though, was not the colour of it, nor was it the air of darkness and wrongness that hung about it, but the high walls. This was what bothered the women most about it.
The walls were not only high, but also fierce and mighty; they were thick and seemed as though they sought to defy the very heavens themselves.
Stunned at the sight of the fifteen-meter-high walls that were eight meters thick and painted the same dark green colour as the towers, the women could not for several long minutes utter a single word.
"Home, we are home," Vifombre rumbled ominously, relief and excitement in his voice so that he sounded akin to a child at that moment.
Swallowing, Seonag studied the face of the bandit who had seized her from within the depths of Château-Arvon and swept her away to his own home. She prayed once more for rescue to come swiftly.
*****
While the brigands raced on, far ahead of the heroes, dashing across the empty fields, through the woodlands that they might find refuge in yon forest away from Pierre and the fury they had awoken in him. Pierre had assembled what men he could, full of nobility and heroism; his example shone as a beacon to all within the locality of Arvon, and it was to this beacon that a great many men flocked as might moths to flames, or as might a great leviathan to blood. It was thus with considerable passion and fury that a great many were gathered as he went through the city in the direction of the goods.
A great many of them hesitated, with Pierre no less uncertain of whither he should go. If he assumed west, he might not find the brigand who had seized his daughter. However, if he ventured east, it might be that the bandit had gone north or west.
The question had to be asked of them: Which way would they go? Should they venture east? Or should they venture north and assume that he was wrong about the direction that Vifombre had gone? Should they now that they had caught Ruaidhrí bring him along? Or ought they to leave him therein the forest?
Such decisions were important. Some, such as Augustin, hesitated, not knowing which way to go, nor did Pierre. The old Comte hemmed and hawed, unsure of what he ought exactly to do with the boy. Thankfully for all concerned in this trying time, at this exact moment of deepest doubt, Salomon intervened.
It was not long before they had caught up to Ruaidhrí, for though the boy had been swift. Almost as swift as the wind, he could not ride quite so fast as the likes of Pierre or Salomon, who had considerably more experience in the art of horse-riding. Both of them were among the finest riders in the land, and were more than a little keen to ride down the youth who had dashed away, to attempt his own foolish rescue of his sister.
When at last they caught sight of him, they and all those with them let out great cheers, wherefore they encircled him to his fury, which tore a great oath the likes of which none had ever heard him utter before. "What do you think you are doing, in the name of all the gods!?"
"We are saving thy life, boy," Salomon replied sharply.
"What you were thinking is quite behind me," Augustin exclaimed with equal fury as he brought up the rear of the armed company, more due to clumsy handling of his steed than any deliberate act of cowardice on his part. "Had you been captured also, what might we have done? How could any of us truly live with ourselves knowing that we had lost the both of you and the Lady Augustine?"
No truer words had ever been spoken, or so the men present to bear witness to the proclamation of the woodcutter believed then. They might well have liked to have added to his wise words, to add some words of support, or murmured their own frustration with the youth, yet they did not. As they studied the two men, the moon continued to beam down its glittering light upon them, the stars shone, and the hills glimmered with the light of the moon. It happened that a great deal of shadows were revealed by this great shining shadow of the twin-suns that reigned over the whole of the world ordinarily.
It was Pierre, though, who first recovered from his surprise at the unusually forceful tone utilized by Augustin. "It would appear that Augustin has said it best, my young friend. You have demonstrated true courage, greater than most your age could otherwise be expected to show themselves capable of under such trying circumstances."
"But I can still be of assistance!"
"Yes indeed, you can, you are the only one who can inform those in Arvon that once the castle has been retaken, to send what reinforcements we will have need of," Pierre replied sharply, interrupting the youth before he could become too consumed by his need to be of some use in the rescue of the two ladies. "Seonag and Augustine require aid, it is true, but that aid can take many forms, many shapes than that of waving lances or swords at the enemy."
Bold as his words were, and fierce as his Caled temper could prove itself to be, Ruaidhrí knew somewhere deep within his soul that the man spoke true. Much as he might have loved to refute those words, however, he struggled to do so.
All he could say at that moment, in response to the mighty Comte, "Am I to simply abandon all hope of rescue for my sister? To hide and keep away while that monster holds her captive?"
A true knight if ever there was one, Salomon was to interpose himself between the outraged youth and the Comte, "Ruaidhrí I understand you wish to help your beloved sister, and perhaps even this Ogre friend of yours, Marculf however if they are within that hidden castle then it will be the most dangerous place to be in the whole of this county. We still do not know if it is ghost-haunted or simply haunted by a vast number of brigands. We know only that danger lies ahead."
"And that is why I must go forth! I am not afraid!"
"Then you are a fool!" Salomon snapped at him, "I, too, am not afraid for myself, but I am aware of the danger that lies ahead at least. I am also terrified that the slightest wrong decision might result in her life being ended! Therefore, we hesitate because we are weighing the risks, not being cowardly as you might perceive us to be."
His words paralyzed Ruaidhrí. Frozen in place by them, he was to stare as though he had been struck by the young man, hardly able to understand his words at first.
For some time, he had become fixated upon charging forward, and proving his valour as many others, such as Salomon, Marculf, and Seonag, had time and again. What he had not counted upon was the possibility that his need to prove himself and to purge himself of all thoughts and fears might endanger any of those he loved.
It was only when he swallowed his own impulsiveness, his need to act, to charge forward not unlike a man in a joust, that he was able to think. It was the first time since the revelation, since he had had himself tested to discover if he had the 'Gift' as the Order of Auguria called it, and discovered that he did not have it. That test had left him utterly disappointed and left him with the knowledge that there were a great many things he would never be able to do.
It was then, as he debated what he ought to do, as he was escorted back to the castle, that he realized there was one thing he could do; he could tip the scales of battle in favour of his sister. "Come along, and do hurry!"
His guard stared at him, perplexed, "Exactly where do you think you are going? You must head back to the castle!"
"And I shall go there, but first I wish to see someone."
"Who?"
"You shall see," Ruaidhrí replied as he sprang into action, whipping up the reins of the horse.
*****
The two departed for the city of Arvon, setting the forest behind them. Quite where it was that they might ride to, or to be more apt, who they rode towards, was a mystery to the guard. He was destined not to see who it was that Ruaidhrí wished to seek out, only to realize with a start when he saw the small grouping of tents that the youth was headed thither to.
It was thence that he attempted to stop the youth, failing to grab him by the arm, and when he called out after him, he did so in an alarmed voice. "What are you thinking, boy? Why come to this man for aid? He might well be guilty also!"
"Yet he did not, he seems to have kept to himself," Ruaidhrí countered, ere he threw himself forward towards the nearby tent, "Mathieu, heir of Havion, why do you hide in your tent, in the manner of a frightened girl?"
"Hide?! Girl?!" Mathieu exploded from within as he appeared outside his tent with a scowl on his face.
"That is, unless you are afraid?" Ruaidhrí demanded of the man from Havion.
Staring at him, stunned by the insult to his honour, the heir of Havion could do little more than gape and glare at the youth. Hardly familiar with him, he was to study the lad with unrelenting fury, the sort that might have once upon a time frightened him. Lo! It was thus that, after many years in the service of Marculf, Wiglaf,who was liable to fly into worse rages than that which Mathieu had just exhibited, endowed him with the strength to resist.
Staring the older male square in the eye, he defied him with all that he had, daring him to prove him either correct or incorrect on this matter. It was with considerable reluctance that Mathieu turned away, cheeks burning with humiliation.
"Are you afraid? And here I had thought you courageous, you and the other men of Gallia, who were in olden times said to rival those of us of the far-flung north." Ruaidhrí persisted coldly, with a raised brow.
"Mind thy tongue, boy!" Growled one man.
"Let us prove him wrong," Another man grunted.
Yet it was the genial Brittian who was to rouse Mathieu to action. Walter the Brittian, who had hitherto now remained silent throughout the exchange between them, spoke up at last. "I ought to have little love for the boy, given how our nations have never gotten on well. Yet his sister has shown herself to be a fair and chaste lady, and is dear to the Lady Augustine, who was likewise unjustly taken by Vifombre. I do not know or much care what the rest of you do. However, I will go. I will go and rescue my sister, because I am no coward, and wish to do what is right. I would urge the lot of you who love virtue, you most of all, Mathieu, to remember your oaths, to remember the Code by which we Knights are meant to abide by."
His words, fierce as a lion and bright as the dawn, were exactly the words that Ruaidhrí had hoped might tumble forth from his own lips. He had hoped it might be his day to speak such words, to speak in a manner that might move men's souls and might push them to great deeds. Still, he was grateful for Sir Walter and his championing of his cause.
Mathieu, visibly affected by his friend's words, stared after him, even as Ruaidhrí followed after Walter, who climbed atop the horse he had jousted with, and made after the youth. The two were not to remain near the castle for long, and were to soon hurry after those wandering through the forest; the pair was to soon be caught up with them, much to the frustration of the warriors who had accompanied Pierre.
As they travelled through the lands of Arvois towards the eastern woods, Ruaidhrí was to ask of the older man, "Do you suppose Mathieu will remain behind? We ought to have tried harder to convince him to follow after us."
"No, that would have been foolish," Walter replied with a glance over his shoulder, "Mathieu is a man best left to himself at times when the time comes to make up his own mind."
"And if he chooses not to help rescue my sister?"
"He will, I have never known Mathieu to make the wrong decision, or to fail in his duty. But he must be allowed to think for himself; he does, however, only ever like to take the counsel of his father or Alexandre." Walter told him knowingly, turning away from him as he led the way into the forest. "But that is not our duty; for we have at present the responsibility to help Pierre in the battle that is to come."
*****
The castle that they discovered in the forest was one that Pierre was to stop to stare at. It happened that the Comte had quite clear memories of the last altercation he had had with the brigands that presently haunted his homeland. He had come to hold those memories in low regard, often burning with shame at how he had wept and begged as a boy, for mercy from his kidnappers even as he had often thrown himself time and again into ever greater manly pursuits in the hopes that he might prove to others, along with himself his father's son. Seeing the castle his father had had burnt and torn apart decades prior, rebuilt, stunned him.
He had never expected to once more see the castle as it was, in his youth. Confused, he gaped at it for quite some time. It happened to be Salomon who piped up and voiced what they all of them thinking, "How could such a large keep be built in secret?"
There was not a soul present who had the remotest answer prepared for his question. Each of them was full of confusion and bewilderment, so that none moved at first towards the castle as they had discussed they might do, throughout their journey to the forest.
"Impossible, it is exactly as it was when I was almost ten years of age," Pierre murmured, staring at the building in horror and a seemingly mesmerized expression on his face. "I have not seen its likeness since, never seen- I had thought I had forgotten it."
"How could it be built so near to your home, without you being aware of it, Monseigneur?" Ruaidhrí wondered, visibly confused, asking what was on the minds of a number of their companions, Augustin included.
"That I know not," Pierre admitted, his cheeks burning with shame as he studied it.
"Lying does not become you, Monseigneur," Salomon reprimanded the Comte at once, his eyes dark with disapproval.
The Comte, for his part, remained silent as several of his men hissed and scowled at the Breizhian man. None of them approved of what they perceived to be the abuse of their beloved liege-lord, for it was in their view an overstepping of the mark to question him in such a tone.
It was to their displeasure and disapproval that their Comte admitted, albeit reluctantly, to his own culpability and weakness at this moment. Humiliated by his actions of well over forty years, he said to those around him, "It is true that I have ignored this forest for far too long. Never did I like to wander through it, for it reminded me of my most childish hour, when I was weak. If there was work done on this keep, and I remained ignorant of it, always it was because I turned my gaze away from it."
This admission did not come easily to the Comte. It was one that all present could see he derived no great joy in speaking so, and was of a mind to destroy this place brick for brick, as his own father had done nigh on forty years prior to then.
At present, though, being more worried for his daughter, he was to seek the counsel of his men and to consult with them on how best to attack the castle.
He knew from years of experience that though the front gates were open for all to enter through that way, it would not be the best point of entry. A keen strategic mind, the good Comte was to say to his men, "I know that we are likely expected that way. Therefore, I say to you all that it might be best if we discuss what action we might undertake ere we take it. I remember from decades ago, this castle had a secret passage, it was discovered by a woodcutter, and the knowledge was transmitted to my father, who used it to ambush Vifombre and to rescue me all those years ago."
"Do you remember where it might be?" Salomon asked urgently, speaking for everyone present who studied the Comte with keen interest.
Nodding his head slowly, the old man was to glance away before he returned his attention to them, "It happens that it lies along the northern walls. I do not know if this version of the château has the same weakness that the prior one had. However, I will take but five men with me to investigate." Pausing to study his men, he saw painted on every face their strong sense of outrage, consternation, and desire to come to the rescue of the ladies unjustly taken by Vifombre. Studying them all with careful deliberation, the Seigneur d'Arvois settled his gaze upon Salomon. "Salomon, I would ask you to take the command."
"Yes, Monseigneur."
"What, why him, sir?" One man asked, unable to understand the choice.
"Because, where others wish to charge forward, without first awaiting my signal, or first thinking things through, Salomon, who is utterly unattached to my daughter, will know to think rationally. Reason must prevail, reason and valour if we are to save the ladies." Pierre argued sharply before he turned to select his men. Including amongst them, out of courtesy to the man who had questioned him, and Salomon, the man he had just addressed.
The men selected by the Comte and the Comte himself promptly disappeared into the forest, taking their time to circumnavigate the castle. The warriors were never to wander far from it, never scurrying completely out of sight from it, all in the hopes that the lot of them might keep it within their line of vision. Why is this? Because they did not know the forest half so well as Vifombre or his men did. Relying entirely on memory from forty years ago, the brilliant Pierre was to make his way to the north of the keep.
It was as they waited for some sort of signal that Walter and Ruaidhrí appeared.
Returning to the forest together, the two of them had followed the trail left by Pierre's men for any others who might wish to join them in the battle that was to come. This was why he had left very particular instructions to Salomon to explain to them his plan.
So that as they waited for the Comte's signal, their ranks grew with every passing hour, and yet it was when he saw Seonag's younger brother that he grew angry. "Why in the name of Ziu the war-god have you come hither, Ruaidhrí?"
"I still wish to help," the boy replied stubbornly.
Salomon opened his mouth to scold him once more, when with a great gusty sigh, Augustin the woodcutter put a heavy hand on his shoulder, "We must relent and accept the aid, Salomon. The boy will not have it any other way and is liable to charge ahead. He was ordered away, and has only kept returning hither to our sides, so that we must either forsake him or let him charge thither against the enemy or take him on with us, to maintain an eye upon him."
The counsel was so well-reasoned, so wise, and well worded that it may as well have come from the lips of Lady Augustine herself. Such was the influence it wielded over those men assembled in that forest in that hour that there was not a one who objected to them. To the contrary, there were a great many nodding heads and approving murmurs.
This did not result in a great deal of joy surging forth from deep within the younger warrior's heart. He would have preferred it had Ruaidhrí been sent back, been sent away to wait for them in the château or in the village. Yet he knew the truth; Ruaidhrí would not turn back, would never relent, and would only ever keep chasing them.
"If I may ask, why do we wait here? We should advance!" Ruaidhrí hissed, unaware of the Comte's plan.
It was with a great start that the warriors turned to explain it to him, with the youth bristling at the mere thought of remaining idle. Thankfully, before he could jeopardize the duties passed onto them by their lord, a member of the Comte's party arrived, in a great hurry. Such was the great worry that was painted unto his face that not a single soul failed to take seriously the task that lay before them.
"The Comte has dispatched a man to the gates; they will soon be open," the messenger assured them eagerly.
Most of them looked now to Salomon, anxious to advance, and he, seeing that there could be no further delaying the matter, and not wishing to delay himself, gave a quiet nod.
The man in command of the small force of warriors waited with bated breath, and a prayer falling from his lips just before some of the men made to regain their feet, and begin the charge against the castle keep.
Motioning for his men to follow him, they crossed the distance that separated them from the castle interior on foot, leaving their horses with a small group of villagers who had recently joined them. Judging those men he left behind unfit for the battle that was sure to soon rage within closed quarters, Salomon was, however, brought up short once the vast majority of his men found their way inside the courtyard.
He was not alone.
Contrary to their hopes, it was not Pierre who stood there to greet them. But the armed brigands and false knights Vifombre had brought with him to the joust.
"Wait, we must not advance quite yet," Commanded Salomon, no longer quite as impulsive as when he was alone, and had none under his command.
Visibly worried over what might happen should the enemy press them to do battle, he was to study the enemy atop the castle walls. Certainly, the gates were opened, and the enemy had predicted that they might invade the keep. Both sides were reluctant, it seemed, to do battle.
The enemy had the advantage of having prepared for their arrival by placing a number of archers upon the castle walls. Along with these preparations, they had a number of warriors as heavily armoured and armed as any knights, waiting for them behind the gates. It was with a quick survey of those who had them surrounded that Salomon was to conclude quite rightfully that they could very well soon find themselves skewered upon either countless lances or innumerable arrows.
"Patience will be our friend here," he murmured with a glance from the corner of his eyes, all around them.
Most of the men who had broken into the keep, hot upon the heels of their lord, nodded their heads, if reluctantly so. None wished to be the first to make a foolish move. Not a single one of them dared to attack first, such was the uncertainty that haunted them at that moment. Fearful of the bows and blades that menaced them from every corner of the castle walls and courtyard, they studied the enemy with watchful eyes.
Each of them looked on with such patient, watchful gazes that they could well have been mistaken for panthers. Such was the hunger with which they studied them. It was a ferocious hunger that nothing and no one could ever quite satisfy.
"Where is our lord?" one of the knights demanded of the brigands.
A shrug was his only answer, at which time Salomon asked of them, "And the women?"
"Dead, I expect, or already wedded to our own lord," One of the brigands retorted with a wolfish grin.
*****
It happened that just as a great many wondered what they ought to do, hesitated over whether they ought to charge forward or not, that the most unexpected thing happened. Someone began the charge. There was one amongst them, not a horse, not a knight, and not dressed in armour in the manner familiar to a great many of the Gallians, who chose to throw himself forward. He was to throw himself against the brigands with a heat and a fury that none could quite equal. Filled with hatred for their kind, he was to slash at them with his large axe with the rage of an unchained beast.
"Seonag! None may harm Seonag and live!" Augustin shrieked as one possessed, spittle flying about as he sliced one man's skull in half, ere he could properly respond.
The next man might well have fared better than he if it were not for the savagery and momentum that pushed the woodcutter forward. Never before had even the brigands borne witness to so crazed a man as he.
Crazed, he certainly seemed to those around him, as he charged the enemy ranks without waiting for those behind him to volunteer to assist him, or to have the chance to do much more than stare. The enemy ranks, already in disarray from the sudden burst of attackers on the walls, were now startled by the onslaught put before them by the crazed woodcutter.
Deranged and maddened as he was, he could hardly know at that moment that it was not simply for fear of him that stayed many hands. But it was at that moment that five men swept up onto the castle walls, slashing and hacking away at the archers.
Seeing this, Salomon cheered alongside the rest, "Pierre has done it! Charge now, men, charge!"
And so they did. And what a charge it was! There was such manly bellowing, and slashing and stabbing as every man present there fought like tigers and wolves. Almost each and every single one of them was salivating at the thought of running Vifombre's men through, even as they forgot if for a time, the reality of the numbers that currently faced them.
*****
Slipping past the fighting throngs in the courtyard, Ruaidhrí made for the keep's prison, thinking that it might be there that he might find his sister. Desperate to rescue her, he hardly put much thought into his own safety, so consumed by fear on her behalf was he that he was to forego all reason. It was for this reason that once he recognized one of the secondary, smaller buildings for what it was, he made a great dash for it, evading flashing blades and tumbling knights and brigands.
Once inside, though, he had to throw himself down a dark passage, one which took a sharp left and right, with the right-most path leading to one group of cells and the other to one full of stairs. Taking the leftward path, Ruaidhrí cursed at his ill-luck at not having thought to bring a torch with him. The path he had selected was one with nary a torch to light the path, with the boy coming very near to losing his footing more than once.
It was as he came to the bottom of the stairs that led to the section of the prison, where the most guarded and hated of Vifombre's captives resided, that he slipped on the last step and injured himself. Hitting the wall with his arm hard, after he stuck out his hand to try to steady himself on instinct, Ruaidhrí could only curse his own clumsiness and overlong legs for the hundredth time.
What made it all the more humiliating was that he heard someone chuckle from a short distance from him.
"You should have looked out for that last step," a deep voice remarked, echoing from deep within the darkness.
Staring deep into the darkness in search of the Gallian who had just addressed him, Ruaidhrí saw too late that he was not alone in that terrible place. The pit-like place in the prison was one with a number of cells that lined up to the right and left, but this was not what arrested the attention of the youth.
What attracted his eye was the pair of guards who sat at a table, in the midst of eating their daily bread, when the boy suddenly interrupted them with a scowl. The boy stared at the two with a sense of shock that they shared, if only briefly, before they climbed up to their feet.
Before the youth could so much as move to race back up the flight of stairs, the two men were upon him. A knife flashed out and was pressed against his throat, so that Ruaidhrí had no doubt that he faced the very real possibility of death.
If he thought he might trick them, one of them tilted his head up as he glanced up the stairs, "Has the battle already begun?"
Ruaidhrí's heart was now in his throat, as he stared wide-eyed at them.
"The boy must have come with the invaders," One of the men concluded, with a sneer.
"We should kill him and be done with it," growled the second guard with a sniff and a glance up the stairs, "They will have need of us up there."
It was then that a new voice spoke up. It was a voice that all three of them recognized at once, if for vastly different reasons. To the guards, that voice was that of a prisoner, while to the youth, it was that of a hero. It was that of none other than Marculf.
Stepping up to the bars, the Ogre towered over them all as easily as the castle keep did. His scowl was like that of a demon from the deepest pits of Nifleheimr. Yet this was not how Ruaidhrí knew him; he knew his friend to be as gentle as any man could be.
"Release him now, else I will be forced to slay you both," Marculf growled at them.
"What can you do within that cell of yours? You are trapped, and without your staff, you have no power, magi!" Snapped the more hirsute of the two guards, the one with a knife.
"This staff you mean?" the sorcerer asked of him as he pulled his hand forth to show his hand, which held within its grasp a long staff held within its grasp a globe.
Neither man acted as the globe tapped the bars of the cage, which swung open so that the Ogre might step out, which he did. Eyes glinting, he commanded sharply to the pair of guards, "Now then, drop the knife."
"I will do no such thing!" No sooner had the man said those words than he was made to drop the knife, which he dropped as though it burned his hand.
From the pommel to the blade, the three of them were alarmed to find the knife a vivid red colour. The two men paled as the knife melted away, turning to nothing with a silent hissing noise that alarmed the pair.
"Now, if the two of you could do me the favour of taking flight or perishing, I would be very grateful," Marculf told them pleasantly.
Neither man needed any further coercion to flee from that place, and made for the top of the stairs whilst the Ogre moved to help his young friend back to his feet. Embarrassed that he had required rescue when on the cusp of manhood, the youth was to mumble his thanks.
When he was certain that the youth was fine and largely uninjured, the sorcerer asked cheerily of him, "Whatever are you doing here, my friend? I had thought you would still be in Cymru with Master Wiglaf."
"We came in search of you, on his behalf," Ruaidhrí replied, flushing scarlet, "But Seonag was captured, and I do not know if she is still alive."
At those words, the amused light in the eyes of Marculf faded to be replaced by the dangerous flickering darkness that the boy had seen many times before. It was a sign of his fury. It was in that fury that a great many enemies of the Ogre had met their end, as the sorcerer drew himself up to his full height, threw back his great mane of black hair, and turned away.
"Come then, Ruaidhrí, let us find her. I had hoped to wait until Vifombre came to me before I made my presence and power known to these sacrilegious brigands, but I see now that it is too late for that. Circumstances have changed since I allowed myself to be captured and held captive." Marculf proclaimed as he led his friend out from the prison and out into the light of day.
*****
While Ruaidhrí had been wrestling with guilt and had inadvertently happened upon his hero and great friend, the mighty Ogre Marculf, the Comte had for his own part penetrated the innermost sanctums of the dungeon of the keep. That is to say, the principal building itself, he had hoped to certainly help in the opening of the gates; it is true, however, he had been delayed.
Quite how he had been delayed, one may well ask oneself. But it was a question with an easy answer that a great many might well have foreseen, given how Vifombre's forces had stood on standby, expecting some sort of heroics on the part of the knights of Arvois. Pierre had been ambushed in the keep.
Not only had Vifombre built the secret passage that Pierre's father had utilized to ambush the bandits forty years ago, but he had planned on the Comte following in the old Comte's footsteps. The only thing he had not anticipated was that Pierre would divide his guard, sending away three of his men so that they might go open up the gates while he and one of his men fought bravely against their ambushers.
It was an impulsive decision, yet not one that Pierre made lightly. He knew, however, if he was in danger of falling and could not rescue his beloved daughter, then he would have to rely upon Salomon and the rest to accomplish what he could not. This was how three of his men happened upon the walls and distracted the archers long enough for Salomon and his men to press forward against Vifombre's men.
The hall he currently found himself within, though, was a large one measuring twenty-two meters long and thirty-three wide, while being from the ground to the ceiling almost fifteen meters high. It was an ostentatious place, one in which a great many men could have and likely did feast to their hearts' content.
It not only disturbed him, but angered old Pierre to think that men had indulged themselves in this manner in this wretched place. He knew not how they had gathered the resources to have rebuilt this place, especially how they had done so in secret, and yet he would burn it to the ground and see to it that none would ever rebuild so much as a house in this place again.
"I despise this place," He muttered to himself, disliking the place immensely.
"As do we all, Monseigneur," said the only one of his knights who had remained with him, just before there was a great noise near the entrance of the hall.
The man was a man who had been with him for nigh on twenty-two years, a youthful warrior by the name of Walter. Dark-haired and fearsome, he was a muscular man with a large, almost piggish nose, high cheekbones, and a brawny build.
Along with Walter hitherto then, Pierre leapt when he saw surge forth from behind hidden doors a number of warriors and men, in the dozens. At their head was Casimir, who greeted him with visible amusement.
"I must admit that you interrupted me before I could enjoy the nuptials I had intended to, with either of my two intended brides," The brigand remarked with a great deal of sinister joy.
"You are not likely to enjoy them at all; rather, tonight you shall sup in the realm of Tartarus alongside the previous Vifombre and all those monsters that had supported him all those years ago." Pierre snapped at him just before the enemy surged forward, with Walter falling in the clash that ensued, though he did fight heroically.
It was with more than a little passion that Casimir Vifombre threw himself against the likes of the Comte, who was startled at the sheer aggression with which the younger fighter threw himself forward. He fought not only well but with the fury of a barely caged or restrained lion. Never before had Pierre been put in such a position; never before had he fought anyone so wholly bent on his destruction.
It was a wonder to behold. The other man dove, slashed, and stabbed with nary a thought to his own safety, and did so with such swiftness that Pierre could hardly bring up his shield in time to protect himself. Never before had he faced such a foe, such a terrible enemy.
In his childhood, he had seen his father struggle against the elder Vifombre, had seen how the man had dodged, swerved, parried, and struck. He could still see that man in his dreams, and when he closed his eyes also. It was why he had always fought with the image of that battle, the memory of it engraved into his very soul, and why he felt as though he were observing this one.
It was strange how detached he felt at that moment. It was as though he were somehow apart from himself, looking in on this peculiar battle in which he found himself.
In many ways, the current Vifombre moved and fought and swung his blade, in the exact manner of his father, but in many others, he was wholly different. The previous man who had claimed the identity of 'Vifombre' was older than this man currently is. That was to say that the original Vifombre was a hale man of forty-four years of age, whereas this one was a man of twenty or so.
"Now you will die, old man," Vifombre snapped at him, eager for vengeance, "You will pay for the death of that which you tore from me! What little honour and dignity my grandfather had had, you and your father had torn from him."
"Honour? Dignity? What would you or that serpent who fathered your own parent know of it?" Pierre snapped at the younger man, infuriated by the implications against him and the insult to his own father, "My father was right in his persecution of thy ancestors, and I shall complete his work!"
Casimir became incensed at those words and drove him back with a renewed sense of fury that startled and bewildered the man who had broken into his keep. It was with more than a little satisfaction that he stepped over the corpse of the sole guard that Pierre had kept at his side. It was also with considerable joy that the black-hearted warrior saw the doubt that began to paint itself upon the face of the old man.
It was also in this hour, just as fortune and victory seemed to favour him, that the tide at last changed for the warrior. How it changed was in the most unexpected manner one could have imagined, or at the least either of them could have possibly imagined, as a number of warriors from Arvois poured into the large grand hall in which the Comte and Vifombre fought so passionately against one another.
It was with visible surprise that Casimir saw the likes of Salomon, the maddened Augustin, and, of course, Mathieu leading the charge against his forces.
Naturally, there were still more of his men in that grand hall than there were those loyal to the Comte, so that he was to give way to panic. Still resolved to slay the Comte, he was to throw himself against the old man, who began to chuckle.
"Well now, this is quite the strange turn of events," Pierre replied cheerfully, with no small amount of satisfaction to see Casimir take fright. "It would appear to me that you have lost the chance to win a great victory over my people."
"Be silent!" the wicked warrior snapped furiously, shaken and glaring once more at the Comte, who sniggered once more.
Though he did as he was bidden, Pierre was to throw himself against the younger warrior, his own sword swinging with a fury that shook up the bandit now. Shaken now by the sudden fury of the Comte, who was to slash and swing wildly with no less ferocity than might a berserker from the distant northlands have used.
It was thus now the turn of Vifombre to be forced back by his enemy, so that Casimir was to struggle to parry the many blows that the warrior rained down upon him. Hardly a weak man for his age, Pierre, though wearied beyond what the youth was or could imagine then, fought not like a young man but far more fiercely.
Fighting in the manner of a lion, he was to strike and throw the whole of his bodyweight behind each and every single blow. Though not a plump man, there was nonetheless a great deal behind these new blows, so that Casimir struggled to turn the tide.
He may as well have been resisting the oncoming waves of the sea, for all the good it did him as he struggled and swerved or parried with his shield to avoid this blow or that. The vertical slashes were often followed by horizontal ones, as the Comte turned about one second to another, moving fluidly from one attack to the next.
What was more was that as he moved his foe ever backwards, Pierre kept an eye upon those around him, instinctively watching them from the corner of his eyes. He knew what it was that they were doing; he knew that a great many of the enemy wished to charge him and might otherwise have done so if they were not preoccupied with his knights. He also knew, if only on an instinctive level, that this would be his only opportunity to at last lay to rest the terrible shadow that had loomed over the whole of his life, from this very place.
"You have fallen silent, dear boy! I must say that if ever there was a sign of weakness, that would be the one." The old man remarked with a snort of laughter, one that drew from his foe a heated glare that could have cut through iron and steel. Such was the fury that he cast upon the old Comte that any other man might well have shrankback, or felt disconcerted. Pierre, though, took it as a moment of triumph, as he elatedly added with more than a small measure of victory in his voice. "You had, I imagine, hoped to frighten me, or disconcert me in the winter of my life with the memory of that dastardly grandfather of yours. However, it seems that you are the one who has been frightened."
"I am not frightened!"
"Then why do you look about, in hope of some sort of escape? It is because you have indeed been bested," Pierre countered at once, eager to press his advantage.
Never a man who lacked for some measure of personal courage, Casimir, even in cowardice, was to resort to desperate measures by which he might push back his enemies. The means by which he sought to do so was by grabbing and tearing down a tapestry that depicted his father's kidnapping of Pierre, to set it ablaze.
Pushed back as he was, the Comte ordered his men back to avoid the now-burning piece of art once lovingly sewn together by the likes of Casimir's own mother. It was a work that the nobleman was happy to see torn to shreds, such was the disdain he held for it and the one who had sewn it.
However, he had not long to revel in the act of destruction before one of Casimir's men, thinking to take advantage of his blindness and gain the upper hand against Pierre, who might well have perished then and there were it not for Mathieu.
Seeing the old man thrown back, blinded by the flames and knocked off his feet, barely clinging to his sword, the heir of Havion was to duck under the wide swing of the man he was currently fighting against, run him through, then break apart. Moving with all the lethality and swiftness of a panther, he was to stab the would-be murderer of Mathieu through, from behind.
Amazed to find himself rescued by the son of his oldest rival, Pierre could not help but gape up at the youth. Helping him to his feet, the youth was to silently motion to the doorway, hardly trusting in his own voice to properly address the man who had done so much to previously insult him.
There was, however, a new understanding of some sort in their eyes, as Mathieu nodded his head at Salomon's words, "We must find the ladies Augustine and Seonag!"
*****
Whilst Pierre fought heatedly for his life, and was being rescued thanks to Mathieu, the villainous knight of Vifombre raced along the main hallway that led to his bedchambers. One that was fifteen meters long and wide with a low-hanging ceiling, a large bed (he loved his own comfort). There was also a small table, with two chairs, though they had been moved away from the table, and closer to the other door, one with a hidden doorway directly next to a painting he had had made of his dearly departed mother.
It was into this chamber that Casimir flew. His legs might well have worn the winged boots of ancient Hermes; such was the swiftness with which they carried him across the halls of his castle. Panting and sweating, he was to make for where he had bound Augustine, once he had barricaded the door.
Saying as he did so, "I would prefer you, Seonag; however, under the circumstances, it is wiser of me to take Augustine if only for the moment."
The two maids might well have protested, might well have resisted him as best they could; however, neither of them could very well move, tied as they were to the chairs upon which they sat. They were the only two chairs within the bedchamber he had arranged for himself before he had left to go prepare for his ambush of Pierre.
Neither of the two maids had remained idle and had sought to tug, scratch, and slip free of the bonds that bound them to no avail. It was thus for this reason that when they saw him, they let loose a series of squeals and choked screams that could barely be heard, due to the clothes that had been thrust into their mouths.
Casimir, for his part, cutting Augustine loose by way of the knife he held, was to force her onto her feet and with a single push open a secondary door to the left of the bedchamber. The two doors were a unique addition he had added to the keep. When it was first built, he had foreseen that it might be best to have two entrances to every chamber. If only to ensure that he could always escape from each one.
It was this sort of thinking he was now grateful for, and was glad to have brought into the design and construction of the building.
"Do come along, you, however, must remain here if only for the moment, Seonag," Casimir remarked with a hint of mockery in his voice when he addressed her.
The girl, for her part, was to shriek and complain in a muted fashion. It happened, though the warrior was determined to ignore her, as he heard the crash of the knights and warriors far behind him, so that he hurried out the passage, hoping as he did that they had, as he suspected, abandoned the courtyard.
*****
Giving chase, the warrior could not believe that the man had taken flight from the private chamber where he had hidden and chained the women. Pierre gritted his teeth and swallowed many curses. He might well have liked to skewer the other man then and there, and might otherwise have done so if the other man was not swifter on his feet than the elder nobleman.
It was with a start that the heir of Augustin II d'Arvois arrived therein the courtyard to find not only the warrior standing in the midst of the courtyard, near to where the gates were to be found. What also drew Pierre to a halt was the sight of his daughter, held within the grasp of the warrior, her eyes wide with fright as she struggled to liberate herself from the warrior's grasp.
Not far behind the Comte came the rest of those who had broken into the main hall, with these warriors and knights led by the likes of Salomon and Mathieu. The two men bore a stunning resemblance to wolves at that moment as they pursued the warrior, their eyes hungry for blood, as they raced along through the halls without sheathing their swords.
Seeing their bared steel only spurred the bandit onwards all the faster, as his minions sought to hide themselves or otherwise scramble away from the path of those who trailed after their leader. Frightened by how well and ably the knights had fought, with Mathieu's recent reinforcements having turned the uneven tide of sorts so that none dared defy the Comte and his allies any further.
"Damn," Casimir cursed only to yell, as he at last reached the gates, "Cowards! How dare you abandon me?"
None answered.
Turning about just as the sound of those following him reached his ears, the knight of Vifombre moved so that his back was to the great gates and so that he faced his enemies. Cursing all the more, when he saw those giving chase after him, he was to seize Augustine once more by the shoulder and raised his sword to her throat.
"Release her, Casimir!" Salomon commanded the first to arrive in the courtyard.
Frightened Casimir might well have avenged his wounded honour if he truly understood such a thing by attacking the likes of Salomon with the same fervour he had Pierre before him. It happened, though, that he would not release the lady Augustine, who trembled as he pulled her along, walking backwards thither towards the gates.
It was evident that the brigand-knight hoped to escape from the Comte, who, for his own part, was to growl at him, as he followed sword and teeth bared, with hatred. "I hope you realize that you shall not survive if there is so much as a single cut or wound inflicted upon my daughter."
"I should like to see that, however, I have as yet no intention to do her harm," Casimir replied with a certain lascivious grin that nearly made Mathieu charge him then and there. "I must hasten to add, no harm that she will not enjoy!"
"Blackheart!" Mathieu was heard to shout furiously, hardly able to restrain himself and struggling against the likes of Augustin and Salomon, who held him back.
"Wait, Mathieu, think of poor lady Augustine, you shan't charge forward lest he truly harm her!" Seonag also pleaded.
Mathieu hesitated at last, his eyes meeting those of Augustine, who took some measure of relief from his concern for her, just as she did in her father's presence. Both men had but eyes for her, just as Seonag did.
Because of how he had but eyes for them, and seemed to anticipate the remotest action from them, a great many warriors turned now to Marculf in the hopes he might intervene. "Do something, sorcerer!"
"There is little I can do at once, without fear of wounding her," Marculf replied with Ruaidhrí certain he was lying.
He and Seonag once upon a time might have exclaimed about his great powers, his great ability for cunning, and talent for putting men to sleep or burning their weapons. Yet by this time, older and more accustomed to traveling with him, they remained silent and simply waited for him to act.
It was slow at first, yet as one might boil one's meat before one ate it, the great mage was to ever so slightly burn away at the bare hand of the stricken warrior's sword pommel.
His gaze fixed upon it, Marculf left little in the way of hints to what he was doing as he mumbled out his spidery magical words. If he had heard him,Vifombre might well have acted to execute poor, beauteous Augustine.
Thankfully, he did not, and chose to believe them to be utterly castrated, in terms of how they might menace him. He was triumphant, he said to himself, and so had the temerity to now snigger in their very faces, "You see now? It is not by plain combat, pretty speech, and gallant charges that I have won and claimed thy daughter Pierre, but by subterfuge, superior cunning, and strength."
"Is it strength to turn and fly before a man who opposes you, and opposed thy grandfather?" Marculf replied calmly, almost amusedly.
His eyes flashing with fury, the brigand could do little to punish the Ogre who stood before him, though he might well have wished to. He was to once more sneer at those that stood aligned before him, "Such strong words when none of any of you can possibly stop me!"
"You speak as though we need to," Mathieu replied with a hint of amusement in his own voice, though it was marred by the steel and fury that was there also.
"Whatever do you mean, Mathieu?" Casimir snapped, amused and scornful, "Do you intend to give up on Augustine so easily? That was ever thy greatest flaw; if something is too easy, you simply give up on it."
This served to anger the heir of Havion, who would have liked to once more charge him, yet this time he restrained his not inconsiderable temper.
What ought to have served to indicate that something was wrong was the strange smile that came to decorate his lips. It was not his lips alone that curved upwards as they looked at the young man, as smoke arose from where he held the blade.
The blade, just as had happened to the men who had threatened Ruaidhrí, had begun to burn the flesh of the guards, so too did that of Casimir. This all who knew the sly Marculf, to be his work as he continued to stare with intensity and murmur under his breath, the incantations for the spell that was at work.
Ruaidhrí fully expected, just as all others had for Vifombre, to do as the other men had done before, and as any of them might well have done. Yet the warrior, though it must have burnt the flesh of his hand to the extent where he must have felt faint and where he bit his lip until it bled, did not release the blade.
"Y- You damn Ogre! This is another of your foul tricks!" Casimir shouted with such fury that all took a step back for fear that he might vent his rage upon poor Augustine.
The maiden herself was no less fearful and, biding her time, did nothing to try to save herself, even as she silently prayed to the goddess Marianne to rescue her. It was with more than a little agony that her father and Mathieu looked on her torments, and that Seonag almost looked away even as Salomon was at her side in an instant, providing silent comfort.
Yet for the Ogre, there was not so much as a single sign of distress or worry on his part.
This only served to make the bandit all the more frantic.
"What shall you do next? Hurl some ball of flame, or thunder from your fingertips or staff at me, Ogre?" Vifombre demanded of the Ogre, who watched him impassive and unmoving as the mightiest of mountains.
"I had thought rather to wait," Marculf replied lightly.
"Wait? Whatever for? For your spell to at last do more than annoy me?" Casimir sneered at the sorcerer.
"No, I had thought to wait for my other spell to at last work itself into place," Marculf replied to the amazement of those around him who stared.
They soon had reason to break off their staring, for the glow from the staff of the sorcerer was blinding. It had not been quite as bright as a flame before, ere several seconds had passed, the light from it became ever more vigorous and vivid so that all who looked on it were blinded and otherwise to turn away with great cries and shouts.
"Agh! This light!" Vifombre cried out as he raised up a hand to try to blot out the light that shone before him.
Not altogether successful, he was to however relax his grip upon the lovely Augustine, who, being rather slim and of a not at all dull nature, saw the opportunity given to her by Marculf. Sinking her teeth deep into the finger of the hand that moved nearer to her mouth, when he reacted to the light, the cry that was wrenched from his lips was music to her ears.
Racing away from him as quick as a jackrabbit might have from the hound. Just as she did so, Mathieu was by her side in a heartbeat, taking her into his protective embrace as she accepted it with visible relief.
From there, she was to move to that of her beloved father, who held her tightly even as he wept tears of utmost relief, too gratified then to care much more for Vifombre. Though he relived this very same day in his memories at that moment, now he was not the frightened youth of some ten years of age, but rather the grown father, overjoyed to once more hold his dear child.
Casimir refused, for his part, to let the matter lie as he backed away, prepared to still make good his escape, whilst his enemies were distracted.
What he did not see, though he ought to have heard the hooves of the man's horses thunder upon the landscape, was the rider who came upon him from behind. It was with a great bellow of rage that the man ran him through with a short-sword.
And so it was that Casimir Vifombre, the terror of Arvois, met his end.