Lords of Darkness and Shadow (104 page)

“Ambushed?” Sheridan gasped, taking halting steps into the room and trying to shake off Gilby’s sleeping potion. “Who has told you this?”

“I did, my lady,” Father Simon was trying to be gentle, but in truth, he was heartbroken. He knew what Sean and Sheridan meant to each other. He had seen their expressions of love at the marriage earlier that evening. “He was ambushed by the White Tower several minutes ago. I came to find you so that we could leave immediately for your safety.”

Sheridan’s eyes were wide but, to her credit, she did not dissolve into tears. She simply looked shocked.

“Is he dead?” she asked, her tone dull.

Father Simon shook his head. “I did not see him fall. I came to find you. It is what Sean would want.”

Sheridan’s breathing grew faster. She simply stared at the priest in disbelief.  Then, quite calmly, she turned to Guy and pulled the broadsword out of his hand, an old thing that had been left in the room by some previous visitor who had probably grown tired of it. It was a pathetic weapon, old and dented, but a weapon nonetheless. She wielded it with both hands.

“I am going to find him,” she said steadily. “He needs help.”

Guy grabbed her before she could move away. “You cannot go,” he told her. “The priest said dozens of men set upon him.  If you walk into their midst, they will take you straight to the king.”

She yanked herself from his grip, taking a swing at him when he grabbed her more firmly the second time. She was beginning to lose her composure.

“He needs help,” Sheridan repeated loudly. “I must help my husband. I must go to him.”

Guy had a good grip on her but he could see she was growing hysterical. “Sheridan, think about what you are doing,” he wrestled with her to the point of pinning her against the wall. Her eyes were wild with fright as he gazed steadily at her. “Listen to me; this is a battle you cannot win. You will end up dead or worse. Do you think that will save Sean? Do you think it is what he would want?”

She lost the battle against her fear and began to crumble. She tried to chop at him with the broadsword but he took it away from her easily. “I cannot lose him,” she wept. “I must go to him and I will kill you if you try to stop me, do you hear? I will kill you.”

Guy had the sword, gazing into her lovely face and feeling her pain. Part of him was jealous that she was so passionate about another man when he himself still wanted her so badly. But most of him felt a good deal of pity.  He let go of her and shifted the sword to his left hand, opposite his broken collar bone.

“Then I will go to him and see if I can be of assistance,” he told her quietly. “You go with the priest. Let him take you from this place.”

“You cannot go,” she sobbed. “You are injured.”

He lifted his eyebrows in agreement; still badly injured, he was at least able to move about better than he had been earlier. “Maybe so, but I am still stronger than you are.”

Tears coursed down her face as she gazed back at him, realizing that he was serious. With all the man had been through over the past few days, he was deadly serious about aiding Sean. It was difficult to believe.

“You would do this for him?” she asked with incredulity.

“I would do it for you.” He stared at her intently for a moment before lowering his gaze, patting her on the arm as he did so. “Go with the priest, I say. I will do what I can for de Lara.”

Sheridan sniffled, wiping at her cheeks as Guy moved towards the door. She could hardly believe he would aid Sean, but she was nonetheless deeply thankful. Guy de Braose had proven himself more of a man than most and her respect for him grew a little bit more.  She wasn’t sure how she could ever repay him for such loyalty. But she was no fool; she knew he did it because of his feelings for her. It wasn’t out of some misplaced desire for heroism. But she was selfish in that she didn’t care what his reasons were, so long as he went.

“Thank you, Guy,” she went to him before he quit the room and very gently kissed him on the cheek. “For your loyalty and your chivalry, I will always be in your debt.”

Guy glanced at her but it was too much for him to take; he was in love with the woman.  He knew it. He realized he would have done anything for her to keep her happy, even defend the man who stole her away. 

“Go with the priest,” he insisted weakly.

Gilby suddenly provided a distraction from their awkward parting as he picked up his medicament bag.

“I will go with you, young de Braose,” he said firmly. “Sean may need my help as well.”

Guy looked dubious. “A battle is no place for you.”

Gilby gave him a shove towards the door. “Nor you. Get going.”

There was no point in arguing. The door shut behind them and Sheridan stood there, staring at the door and wondering if Guy would survive. She wondered if he would be in time to help Sean.  The tears came again and she rested her forehead against the door, fears and prayers filling her heart.

“… suffice it to say that the End had revealed itself.  There was nothing I could do but stand fast and face it.”

The Chronicles of Sean de Lara

1206 – 1215 A.D.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

They had not come to take him alive. Sean had already decided that the moment he realized that his fears had come to fruition; the king had sent his personal guard to assassinate de Lara and Sean knew, even as he saw the hordes of soldiers dropping down on him, that this was not meant as a threat or an abduction. This was meant for death and he was prepared.

So Sean gave them death. He used his sword as both axe and spear, goring men, chopping them, trying to keep their weapons away from his body. He was clad in full armor and well protected, but even armor had points of weakness. There was no denying that he was vulnerable to a certain extent. But he vowed to do all in his power to get away from them alive so that he could get back to his wife. Above all else, he had to return to Sheridan and get her away from the Tower. If they were after him, then soon they would be after her and he could not stand the thought. He had to protect her.

So he fought valiantly, trying to move away from the group even as they swarmed him. Though the king’s guard was well trained, Sean knew their tactics and he knew each man individually. He knew their strengths and weaknesses and tried to exploit them. Two men fell, then four, then seven as he continued his battle. But he could not kill all of them; even he knew that.  So he tried to move away from the flashing blades and back towards the Tower so he could make an attempt to flee. He had to lose them somehow. But that was his last coherent thought before someone plunged a blade deep into his groin.

It was a bad wound; he knew that right away. It cut into the tender portion of his upper leg, slicing through mail and linen. Sean grunted with pain but did not falter; as he dispatched the man who had cut his groin, someone else managed to jam a blade into his right side. When he brought his weapon around to address the assailant, someone else thrust a cold sword into the right side of his chest, just below the arm pit. Sean stumbled back and went down on his knees.

But he was still fighting. Oddly enough, however, his attackers suddenly seemed to stop.  Bleeding heavily, Sean managed to get to his feet to prepare for another onslaught but none was forthcoming. The men seemed to back off, standing around to watch him bleed to death. At least that was what Sean thought until he saw the reason for their pause.

It was moving through the shadows like a dark specter; he could see a shaggy head making its way through the crowd. Gerard’s face was suddenly illuminated by the ghostly moonlight, his black eyes full of death and fury. Sean’s brow furrowed slightly, remembering the man he had gored and left to die on the floor of the king’s chamber.  But he had apparently not done a good enough job of it because Gerard was indeed walking. He was listing heavily to one side and appeared ghostly pale, but he was moving nonetheless. And he was moving for Sean.

“I told you I would kill you,” Gerard rasped, his sword in his right hand although not yet raised. “You will die this night, de Lara, make no mistake. Your time is finished.”

Sean was shocked though he tried not to let it show.  He was having enough trouble dealing with excruciating pain and tremendous blood loss. But he tried to stand straight to accept Gerard’s onslaught, wondering if he would be able to kill the man this time and make it back to Sheridan before he himself collapsed. He could feel his strength draining away by the second. If he was going to die, then he wanted it to be in her arms. He wanted her face to be the last thing he ever saw.

“It seems that both of our time is finished,” he replied to Gerard. “You may kill me, but I intend to take you with me.”

Gerard wasn’t as healthy as he wanted Sean to believe; the man had a horrendous wound to his gut that was taking its toll. It was a testament to his brute strength that he was still standing. But he tried to put up a good front and lifted his weapon.

“We shall see.”

The first blow was heavy but sloppy. Sean easily deflected it, but he was struggling with his breathing. He suspected a lung had been punctured and it made it extremely difficult to move around. He began unlatching his breastplate with his left hand, anything to help him breathe. Gerard charged at him again but it was more like a stumbling fall; Sean pushed him aside and the man fell on his arse. In the time it took Gerard to get to his feet, Sean had removed both his helm and his breastplate and cast them aside.

The crowd of the king’s soldiers stood silent as the battle of two mortally wounded men continued. It was an odd assembly, like vultures waiting for the kill.   Sean and Gerard were without a doubt the two most feared men in England and to see the clash between them was truly something to behold. It was like watching demons in battle.

The fight continued on. Sean seemed to be defending himself rather than launching any offensives against Gerard; Gerard, however, was sloppy and exhausted, throwing himself at Sean only to be shoved to the ground. This went on several times.   Gerard finally bellowed at the king’s soldiers, ordering them away. He didn’t want anyone to witness what might be his shame. The men disbursed for the most part, though a few lingered out of range. They were watching, waiting for the final blow. Like the lure of blood lust, it was too good to pass up.

Their battle had also attracted the attention of the men on the parapets. Now an audience was watching from above, having no idea why de Lara was battling d’Athée.   It was entrancing, harrowing. When they should have been watching the siege of London, the men guarding the Tower of London found themselves distracted by a life and death battle between two titans. It was distraction enough so that William Marshall was able to move two siege engines within range and decimate the gate of the Bell Tower in two enormous blows. The men guarding the Tower never saw it coming until it was too late.

Suddenly, the men on the wall were rushing to the west side of the Tower where two thousand men had now managed to sneak up on them. The shouting, the cursing, was evident all over the compound. Even the king’s guards fled when they realized the castle was compromised. But Sean and Gerard stayed in battle mode, fighting each other to the death, oblivious to what was going on around them.

Sean had been ordered to sabotage the Tower’s defenses; he could not have done a better job if he had tried. The distraction of his battle with Gerard had proved sabotage enough.

But his strength, and Gerard’s strength, was fading quickly. Although they were still tangling, it was punctuated by long periods where they did nothing more but stand and glare at each other. Sean was leaving a bloody trail all over the ground as his groin wound poured blood down his leg. Worse than that, his vision was beginning to darken and he suspected he did not have much time left to swoop in for the kill. If he did not do it first, Gerard would.

As the gates at the Bell Tower burned brightly, Sean threw himself in Gerard’s direction, intending to give the death blow. But he tripped in his weakness, falling to his knees as Gerard raised his sword in response. When the bear of a man saw Sean on his knees, he knew it was time to strike the final blow. Sean tried to roll out of the way but Gerard was nearly on top of him. As Gerard brought his arm down to deliver the deadly impact, he suddenly jerked to a halt and listed heavily to one side. The sword remained poised above Sean’s head as if frozen there.  As Sean watched in astonishment, Gerard fell to the ground and his sword clattered into the dirt. 

Guy de Braose stood behind Gerard’s collapsed body, a broadsword in his hand dripping dark with blood. The slender young lord with the dark eyes gazed steadily at Gerard on the ground before he, with a great amount of bitterness and an even larger amount of vengeance, rammed the blade once more into the man’s back; he couldn’t help himself. He delivered the death blow and this time, Gerard stilled for good. 

Guy held the left side of his torso, supporting his cracked ribs as he pulled the sword from Gerard’s body. He stood there a moment, gazing down at the man who had beaten him so badly, feeling tremendous satisfaction in his death. He considered it justice. But then he remembered that Sean was several feet away laying on the ground and, from what he had seen in the brief time he had witnessed the fight, he could tell that Sean was badly injured.

Guy made his way to Sean, going down on a knee beside the man. Their eyes met and a strange sense of unity filled the air. There was no longer a rivalry; for the moment, they were both on the same side.

“How badly are you hurt?” Guy asked.

“Badly enough,” Sean rasped. “Why in God’s name are you here?”

Guy was trying to assess Sean’s wounds. “The priest said you were in trouble,” he told him. “I came to help.”

Sean’s brow furrowed at the overload of information. “The priest? How did he know?”

Guy peered at the torso wound. “He said that he saw you being set upon by the king’s soldiers. Your wife wanted to come and do battle on your behalf but I talked her out of it. I told her that I would help you.”

Sean shook his head weakly. “Are you serious? Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because of your wife,” Guy finally fixed him in the eye. “Make no mistake; what I did, I did for her.”

Sean gazed steadily at the young man. “I would not assume otherwise.”

Guy maintained his pointed gaze a moment longer before relenting. “Besides,” he said, averting his eyes. “You saved me from the dungeons. I should return the favor.”

Sean snorted softly. “A noble attitude. But you are not in much better shape than I am at the moment.”

“At least I am not bleeding to death.”

Sean sighed heavily, conceding the point. “Then I owe you a great deal of gratitude,” he said. “Where is Sheridan?”

“The priest is taking her from this place.”

“Where is he taking her?” Sean suddenly grew agitated. “Have they left already?”

Rapid, shuffling footfalls interrupted before Guy could answer. Gilby was abruptly beside Sean, his old face etched with a good deal of concern. 

“Good God, de Lara,” the old man muttered, pushing Guy back so that he could assess the damage. “I thought you said that Gerard was dead?”

Sean lay back on the ground, staring up at the starry night and thinking so many thoughts that it was difficult to grasp one. His most powerful thought was of Sheridan; he did not want to acknowledge that he was dying but he knew it was the truth.  He had seen enough battle wounds to know. He reached out and grasped Gilby by the arm as the old man inspected the groin wound.

“Do not let Simon take Sheridan away, not now,” his voice was hoarse. “I will not make it from this place, Gilby. You know this. I want to see my wife before… before I pass.”

Gilby cast a long glance at Guy, who gazed back with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. They both knew how dire the situation was and neither one would refuse the request of a dying man.

“You will not pass if I can help it,” Gilby said steadily. “But I will send young de Braose to find your wife. Perhaps they have not left yet.”

Gilby nodded sharply at Guy, who struggled to his feet and took off as fast as his injured body would allow. When the young lord moved away, Gilby began attending to Sean’s groin wound.

“Stay with me, Sean,” he said evenly. “Do not go to sleep. Stay awake.”

Off to the west, the sounds of a battle began to fill the air as the attackers broke though the gate.  But Gilby ignored the sounds, concentrating on saving Sean’s life. 

“Gilby?” Sean muttered.

“What is it?”

“Do you remember I told you earlier that if I die this evening, I will die the most fulfilled man who has ever lived?”

“I do.”

“I lied. I want to see my children.”

Gilby glanced at the man, giving him a half-grin. “I know you were lying,” he refocused on his task. “That is the problem with you, Sean; you are too noble. Now see what your sense of duty has cost you.”

Sean nodded faintly. “It will cost my life.  But we always knew that was a possibility.”

The groin wound was bad; a main vessel had been nicked and Gilby was struggling to stop the bleeding. It had clotted somewhat but the flow was still heavy.   Without any choice, he stuck his fingers deep into the wound to pinch the vessel closed, feeling Sean flinch with pain as he did so. But the man didn’t utter a sound.  With his other hand, Gilby took his needle and cat gut and tried to throw a stitch into the big vein.  It was messy and excruciating. In the end, he wasn’t sure if he did any good given the fact that he could hardly see what he was doing, but he had to do something. Sean was bleeding to death before his eyes.

“Stay awake,” Gilby commanded softly, wrapping up the groin and going for the chest wound. “Do not go to sleep. Stay with me. Talk to me.”

Sean was still staring up at the sky. “I am here.”

“Tell me of Trelystan. I have never been to the Marches, you know.”

“How did you know about Trelystan?”

“You would be surprised what I know about you,” the old man snorted; the chest wound had nicked a lung and he moved to seal it. “I know that you have a brother.”

“Everyone knows that. My younger brother serves the Marshall.”