A Promise Broken

"Any fool can utter a word. But words that bare the fruit of action, is wisdom-sublime."

The evening before the burning of Monmonoth.

     The DeBauchaus Manor house is eclipsed by tall wild oaks in a field surrounded by a thick deciduous forest. Moss runs alongside its old granite walls. Flowing fountains and marble statues are sowed throughout the gravel path that snakes within the hedges of the garden terrace.

     The main entrance leading to the parlour is a cobble stone path bent around a fountain with a statue of Marseilles Leonardo DeBauchaus the great church doctor and theologian. His outstretched hands hold that most sacred text the Avalid and a torch that illuminates the cobblestone at his feet.

       In the cloak of night a pair of menacing umbral figures dart from the bushes and enter the manor house from a side archway.

     Hardy oak barrels brimming with aged spirits line the rock walls of the cellar. From the low ceiling dangle withered roots from the compacted dirt in-between crossbeams cracked and soiled. The floor is composed of cold uncut stones where two men stand guarding a dark passage leading up to a pantry.

      The guard's discountenance of the place is obvious from their tense postures to their shaking hands grasping at their sword hilts. The shorter of the two gulps nervously before turning to his compatriot.

     "One way in, one way out. I don't like it. Not one bit."

      The other ignores his concern and concentrates on the stairwell framing his mind for a possible engagement.

      I gots a bad feelin about this.

      A thick stone wall with a small shadowy opening divides the cellar in half. The guards on one side and on the other a large wine barrel accompanied by other smaller barrels. The old cellar very much resembles the bowels of some earthen ship.

     It's a damn tomb. The guard despairs.

     The larger wine barrel's lid slowly flips open on hidden hinges and reveals a secret room. A white glove emerges from the opening and grasps the barrels rim. The Count, a tall musky looking man with a black and silver bristle mustache pulls himself out of the barrel and shines a candle in front of him to make visible his surroundings. Before he brings his other foot forward the candle flame flickers from a slight breeze. Snapping his head to the flame he quickly extinguishes it.

      Someones in the pantry?

     His periwinkle blue petticoat opens slightly to reveal a letter tucked carefully away in it's interior pocket. Fearing the worst he returns to the secret study within the large barrel and stows the letter behind a painting that hangs on the wall. His eyes deviate downwards to a bust of a familiar face that sits atop a dusty bookshelf.

     Edward Duoy, my great grandfather's betrayal weighs heavy on my heart.

     The sound of the second hand   ticks to one quarter of an hour past eleven. Sensing his end was near he feels every passing tick and every tock the falling of the axe at the executioner's block and yearning for the hands of the clock to reach out and choke the life out of him.

     What if? What if its....them?

     A sound drifts out from the shadowy stairwell, closer and closer a rhythmic thud approaches. The guards turn to the stairwell entrance their blades ready and in suspense of the clambering sound. From out of the black rolls a severed head and a trail of blood behind it. Rolling slowly towards the guards it stops at their feet as blood pools at the neck. An acrid taste clings to their tongues as they look down at the severed head. A look of fear is frozen upon its face. They recognize to whom the head belongs, the strongest and best among them a man known as Wiglam. The best knife fighter they had ever met.

     What treachery is this?

     A bolt darts out of the shadows and pierces one of the guards chest. The second pulls his sword and looks for cover but before he can take a step a bolt rips into his chest. His life robbed from him he collapses to the floor his last breath escapes him.

     Bolts!...Then it is those devils. Damn!! 

     One shadow emerges and steps into the light, then a second. Their faces hidden behind devilish masks of crimson and gold. A grotesque nose hangs above a visceral smile. Grey smokey eyes peer through the masks eyelets with a predatory gaze. Their garbs well fitted tunics and several dozen leather straps that keeps it all snug against their slender toned frames. A scarlet cross was plastered across their chests the signet of the Knights of the Radiant Cross, a secret spy network under the direct control of the Archbishop Vladislas Valasko.

     Well armed, they equipped a short blade with a slight curve in a scabbard that hangs from thick leather belts round their waists. Accompanied by several small pouches and a compliment of small bolts. Around their left bicep a thick leather arm band, which holds several throwing knives. Strapped to their left hand and wrist a miniature crossbow mechanism and on their right a tight glove with its finger tips cut off.

     Taking a deep breath the Count lowers his hand towards his sword.

     If they're here then Valasko has discovered my intentions. He wants the Duoy Document for his own purpose but the journal will never see his eyes.... Please give me strength in these passing moments whilst I still draw breath.

      Bending down he observes the unsuspecting killers through a small spyhole in the wall. Recognizing the killers he takes a step back. Nearly taken with fear he ponders if he will die here.

     There's no escaping them. I could hide but I've been hiding my whole life. Alas I should find reprieve from the burden of the sins of my forefathers in sleep eternal.

     Stepping towards the wall he gathers himself. Though he welcomes death his instinct to survive heightens his senses. Heart pounding like the hooves of horses given chase and with such force he felt it would burst out of his chest. Perspiration dribbles down his brow and the cool air drifting from the open pantry door draws his attention.

     Did Caliberus and the others escape?

     He continues to collect his thoughts and slowly regains composure complete with a steady breath that drops his heartbeat to a manageable throb. Opening the wooden door he makes himself known. He addresses the devilish masked murderers.

     "Rosencrantz, Guildenstern. Thank the Divine you're here. I've been detained here by these ruffians. I knew they would send help."

      Saying nothing the two look at each other then back to the man. Their swords still drawn they take a step forward but remain silent. An eerie suspense begins to foster in the Count and becomes restless. Firmly gripping his sword handle underneath his petty coat he prepares for their attack.

     "Rosencrantz? Guildenstern?"

     The two masked murderers continue to walk forward without speaking a word. The Count takes a step back nervously.

     Any moment now and they will strike, if I'm going to die here, then I shall die with my sword drawn.

     As much as the devilish twins enjoyed the helplessness in the eyes of their victims from their bolts. They enjoyed more the visceral intimacy of the blade.

     Now is the hour as I am now at death's doorstep. I pray the thief keeps the document safe.

     Grabbing his scabbard he readies to pull his sword.

     "Come and take me you devils!"

     He yells but before he can draw the blade, as swift as his bolts Rosencrantz darts forward and with an arc of blood the man's head falls from his shoulders onto the ground. Its impact leaving a red mosaic splattered across the cobblestone. Red tributaries flow through the cracks in the stone and to the feet of the Twins Tyranus. Several voices carry through the pantry down the stairs and to the twin's ears followed by the slamming of doors. The twins look down at the body then quickly turn to give chase to those who would eschewal them.

Reviews

[blue cave]

Mati this is exciting. I like the descriptions of the weapons...can you give even more??? I got a little confused about who was where and why; like the peep hole and I wasn't sure how many guards there were and who was getting the axe...just makes me want more

[Mati]

Yes of course. Its only a rough draft. I shouldn't have even published it yet. I haven't finished it either. Sorry.

[blue cave]

cool...i'll just read and enjoy then

[Mati]

Àctually I would prefer you leave comments being that it is a rough draft and that is when it is needed the most. I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't do so. Simply stating that is was a rough draft.

[blue cave]

You got it....im reading a chapter a day :)