Chapter 8: Faith Tested

  Thibault took a step to the side and raised his shield. Adalhard’s wooden mace came crashing down, glancing off the rim of the shield. Thibault closed in and jammed the shield into Adalhard’s shoulder, aiming for his old wound. The other knight staggered.

  Eyeing Adalhard’s offhand blade, Thibault stepped into the knight’s guard. He slammed the pommel of the sparring sword into the padding over Adalhard’s chest.

  But Adalhard reacted immediately. He let go of his off-hand weapon and hooked his arm underneath Thibault’s shoulder, twisting hard as he took a step past Thibault.

  Thibault felt the world flipping upside down as Adalhard dragged him over his thigh and sent him crashing into the ground.

  In an instant, Adalhard had his shin across Thibault’s chest, pinning him down. Thibault tried to wrench free, but within the blink of an eye, he had the tip of Adalhard’s rondel dagger against his throat.

  A wide smile appeared on Adalhard’s face.

  “Got you this time, my friend.”

  Thibault lay on his back, breathing heavily.

  “Now come on, stand up, you will get me next time.” Adalhard chuckled, extending his hand to Thibault. He shoved it aside and stood up.

  “That’s not very cordial of you, good Ser!” Adalhard snickered.

  Thibault looked the knight square in the face. “Cordiality has no place here; it seems not even honour has ….”

  Adalhard paused for a moment, then spoke, “Thibault, you know well enough that honour and faith separate us from those we encounter.”

  “There was no honour in letting these warp-infected vermin leave!” Thibault snarled.

  “You’re still brooding over that? That was over two weeks ago.”

  Thibault averted his gaze. “You were not with me when I first crossed blades with these creatures and the behemoth arrived. It was the Lady’s blessing alone that made me survive. My squire Yuri only received the Lady’s calling; his trial ended there. In the mud.”

  “As have others, after all, it is the Lady’s will that we are here. And by her will alone, shall we endure.”

  “You are right, I feel ashamed for speaking out of turn.”

  “Don’t be, Ser Thibault,” Lady Justine said.

  Thibault wheeled around, he had not heard her approaching. He looked down, afraid of meeting her gaze.

  “The Lady will not give you certainty, Ser Thibault. What she will give you is a trial.” She continued, “And some of those trials end in the mud.”

  She took a step forward. She reached for his chin and raised it, so she could look in his eyes.

  “Not all paths are the same length. Your squire’s path was cut short by these foul creatures.”

  She paused for a moment.

  “If your heart still burns, let it. When the Lady places enemies before you, you will strike. Until then, you will endure!”

  And with that, she turned and left.

  Thibault stared at her leaving.

  “Well, there leaves our good Damsel and we are yet none the wiser. I guess she is looking after “her” again.” Adalhard muttered next to Thibault.

  “I don’t like “her” being here!” Thibault replied.

  “Neither do I, but we are in no position to question the Lady’s will!”

  They were interrupted by the sound of the city's alarm bells.

  “See Thibault, no need to brood, it seems the Lady offers us yet another trial”.

  The executioner’s square

  They had moved out quickly once the alarm bells were sounded.

  Thibault looked about as they slowly approached the executioner’s square. Rumours had it that both the vermin and the walking dead had been spotted.

  He peered down an alley to his left and immediately spotted the shadow dashing between the buildings. He let out a sharp whistle and drew his sword. A few paces away, he heard Gehrman’s dog let out a deep growl.

  Thibault, alongside other members of the Order, stormed the raised square. From up there, he could see Adalhard and his squire alongside Lady Justine on their right flank.

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  Suddenly, he could feel his skin prickling. “No … not again,” he muttered with determination. But no claws scratched his skin this time. But to his left, one of the battle pilgrims started screaming. Thibault could see the air shimmering around him as claws and maws pierced through the air and tore into the skin of the pilgrim. The pilgrim went to his knees, still breathing.

  He moved towards the kneeling pilgrim, scanning the surroundings for any signs of the accursed spell-weaver. Then again, there was a prickling sensation and a screeching sound to his left. Thibault wheeled around and instinctively took a small step back.

  A gaunt man had just stepped on the raised square, seemingly out of thin air. In his right hand he held a sword wrought in flames. The air around it hissed, yet the man did not seem affected by the heat.

  Within an instant, Gehrman and one of the Battle-Pilgrims were upon him. The man raised his blade to deflect Gehrman’s axe. Flames licked alongside the axe head. It made an awful hissing sound as fire met metal.

  He tried to twist away when the pilgrim’s mace crashed into his ribs. Thibault could hear the impact as the bone broke.

  Staggering back, the man lost his footing and fell down the platform.

  For a moment, all was silent until Thibault heard squeaking and scratching noises from the gutters below. Suddenly, a horde of vermin rushed the executioner’s square.

  His fellow Bretonnians formed a line along the square and charged forward. Thibault raised his shield and held rank.

  He saw movement in the corner of his eyes and braced his feet against the cobblestone. He turned to face the threat, holding his shield towards it in a defensive stance. The next moment, a giant rat crashed into him. The force of the crash was deflected by the shield, yet the sheer weight of the creature jarred Thibault’s arm.

  Thibault could hear and feel its claws dig into the wood of the shield. Its gnashing maw held a few inches before his face.

  Thibault could smell the foul stench of sewer and decay.

  He delivered a blow to the snout of the beast with the pommel of his sword. With a squeaking sound, it recoiled and jumped off the shield. Landing on all fours. The rat dropped low, its tail twitching. It bared its teeth and made a wet hissing sound. Then it lunged at Thibault again.

  Instinctively, Thibault took a step to the side and jammed the rim of his shield into the rat's back. It made a cracking sound. The creature skittered across the floor, lifeless.

  Thibault closed ranks again, next to him, Squire Alfred drove one of the two-legged creatures off the ridge of the platform. It tumbled down and scurried off into the gutters.

  The Bretonnian battle line moved forward, step by step.

  Thibault was about to pursue when he heard three shrill squeaks.

  Gehrman’s voice cut through the battle noise: “Reform ranks, they are falling back!

  Thibault let out a curse, he took another step towards the gutters, determined to put an end to these foul creatures. “We cannot let them get away,” he muttered beneath his breath.

  “The walking dead are closing in.” Gehrman bellowed.

  Thibault stopped mid-motion, cursed again and wheeled toward the northern side of the platform.

  He looked down from the platform to see a horde of shambling dead slowly moving towards the platform. In the distance, he could hear Arnaud barking, then a sudden sharp whimpering sound, followed by silence.

  A bright shimmer in the distance caught Thibault’s eye. A heartbeat later, his mouth filled with a metallic taste, and he felt a stinging pain in his teeth. The next moment, the sensation was over, and a volley of silver arrows rained down on the battle line.

  Thibault heard a scream; he looked to his right at Squire Ambrose slowly stumbling back. He clutched his shoulder – a silver arrow had buried itself deep in the flesh. Ambrose tried to grab the arrow, but upon touching it, it dissolved, making the air around it shimmer.

  “Raise your shields,” Thibault yelled, “Away from the ledge!”

  Over the rim of his shield, he could see the undead hordes advancing towards them. Thibault glanced down from the platform and spied an unconscious Battle Pilgrim lying at the foot of a flight of stairs leading up to the platform.

  Without hesitation, he shifted towards the fallen pilgrim. “Alfred, Gunther, get him out”.

  He covered their retreat as suddenly the taste of metal intensified. He felt a piercing pain in his mouth. But only for a heartbeat, then the sensation was gone.

  A gleaming shaft hit the rim of his shield hard. He heard a screeching sound of silver on steel, as a bright light flared before his eyes.

  He felt scorching heat searing the left side of his face.

  Then the world went black around him.

  When Thibault woke, all he felt was pain. His face was on fire, and it felt like his head was about to split. The world around him was foggy and unclear.

  He tried to speak but did not find the strength to do so.

  “It has become inflamed,” he heard Lady Justine’s voice say, “only faith in the Lady can save him now.”

  All went out of vision, and with it the pain.

  He woke once again. The pain returned, more vicious than before.

  He felt something soft against his burning face. Gentle fingers that took away the pain and drove away the heat.

  “Step away from him … at once!” he heard Lady Justine, followed by the noise of someone being slapped and hitting the floor. “You are not to touch him.”

  The world collapsed into darkness again.

  The next time Thibault woke, the burning sensation was gone. His head still hurt, but less so. Slowly, he sat up and took in his surroundings. It seemed like a thick fog was covering his eyes. His throat was sore and dry.

  Leaning over, he tried to grab a goblet but missed. In doing so, he fell of the bench.

  He heard footsteps.

  “Thibault, it looks like the Lady is not done with you yet!” he heard Adalhard’s mocking voice. “I thought we had lost you – here, let me help you up.”

  Thibault shoved his hand aside. Against the screaming pain, he rose up – on his own.

  “Well, at least the blow didn’t take your stubbornness”, Adalhard snickered.

  “I feel like having met a charging destrier head-on”, Thibault muttered.

  “A bretonnian destrier I take … I have seen men looking better after meeting a lance in full gallop. But you are alive … that’s all that matters for now. Tell me, Thibault, can you still see the world around you?”

  “Hardly, all is murky.”

  “Ha, my father’s castellan told the same thing. He bore the same mark. But losing an eye did not stop him from fighting, more ferocious than ever … you will adapt, you know.”

  Thibault sat back on the bench.

  “One eye then.” Thibault swallowed hard.

  He raised his hand to his bandaged face. It felt numb and lifeless.

  Thibault hesitated and sighed heavily. “The Lady gives us trials. Then this shall be the one I am given,” he said, his voice slightly shaking.

  “You did not …. I see … you need to rest, my friend; you will get used to it.” Adalhard said, “Your faith did not falter; we thought the inflammation would burn you right up.”

  “Well, it did not” Thibault whispered and readied himself to stand up again.

  But his body refused his will, and the world turned dark again.