Chapter Four Part Two

An imperious barrage of sound struck the door of the Cardinal’s room, causing him to look up from the fireplace in which he was burning the last of his papers. The banging became more insistent, until a round was discharged against each of the door’s mounts, and the wooden barrier was slammed to the floor.

Stately, his anger restrained yet obvious, the Cardinal turned to face the men pouring through the now open doorway. Church soldiers, fanned out, setting up a cordon around the opening, their weapons unslung and pointed at the Cardinal.

His cold gaze caused a number of the soldiers to step back and involuntarily lower their weapons, but a shouted command bolstered their courage and once more they took up their positions. Two men strode through the broken entrance, one covered in the opulent blue silken robes of the Priesthood and the other in his green and gold House colours.

“What do you think you...” began the Cardinal, but a snide laugh, cut across his attempted bluster.

“Well, well,” sneered the small, rat-faced, man whose green and gold clothes hung limply from his frame. A small scar ran down the right-hand side of his face, finishing at the corner of his mouth, seeming to give him thin and extremely elongated lips. “My cousin said we would find you here, plotting, and so we have.”

Krun ignored him, turning to face the cleric by his side, “What do you think you are doing Seiben?” he asked, quite calmly, “I will have you stripped of your priesthood for this!”

The man stared at Krun, his dark, soulless eyes seeming to look through him. He turned to his companion and waved him forward, before turning to face Krun once more. “You, my dear Cardinal,” he said in a flat monotone voice, “have as of now, zero power to do anything. Having been found guilty of heresy, summary judgement will be handed out by the highest-ranking Church Official present, that is to say, me.”

He made as if to move away, and then as though he had forgotten to say something, turned back to face his soldiers. “Kill him!” he spat, continuing on his way, as the sound of pistol fire rang through the room.

The first shot struck Krun high in the chest, spinning him at an oblique angle to the remainder of the volley. Rounds struck him, but not fatally, allowing him to reach for the small box he carried, in the pocket of his voluminous robe. He quickly depressed a number of keys on the box in a pre-determined sequence, sighing as the bleeped acceptance of his signal was received. This was just before the second wave of fire shredded through his flesh, punching him back into his chair in a parody of his earlier comfort. The Cardinal felt his life ebbing out, almost in tandem with the dripping blood which fell from his hand, as it lay draped over the arm of his chair. Each deep-red drop, first ran as a small rivulet across the control box he still held in his hand, before gathering in its lower corner and then softly falling to earth.

A soft scuffing sound, brought Krun’s attention back to the moment and it was now his turn to smile. Lepus’ man would have to make sure of his actual demise and it would give him the opportunity for a little revenge, however petty it would be. As the hot, foetid breath of Lepus’ Leftenant struck against his cheek, the Cardinal flipped a tiny switch on the rear-face of the box in his hand.

His shout of laughter, caused all in the room to stare and so they were able to fully appreciate the splendour of the explosion which consumed the Cardinal’s body, before reaching out its greedy fingers for them too.

*

Frere Seiben looked up in frightened wonder, as the top floor of the building he had just left was wracked by a shuddering expansion wave and then wreathed in licking flames. He saw the roof collapse downwards, smashing the rooms below and watched the rising plumes of smoke and powder, billowing out in puffs and starts.

He had never expected such a reaction, his life had been spent within the bosom of the all-powerful and manipulative Church. There had never been such sheer defiance and it worried him. The information from Lepus had been clear and damning, the Church’s reaction swift and decisive. Even now, he knew the last remnants of the Order and the insidious Brethren were being excised, like any cankerous sore. Seiben just hoped that it was going a little more smoothly at the Chapter House.

*

Just as the Captain’s outstretched fingers caressed the butt of Franklin’s pistol, the Knight acted, rapidly flipping the pistol over and pulling its double triggers. A percussive round struck the Captain full in his chest, blowing him backwards and then the needle-like shards of metal, from the flechette round shredded the flesh of his neck and face, sending a spray of blood outwards in an arc, as the body twisted away.

Franklin had not waited for the rounds’ effects, rather he had dropped and spun, drawing both of his short swords. His left leg speared out, even as the right bent forward, supporting Franklin’s lunge. The sword in his right hand plunged into the first soldier’s chest, his left-hand blade balancing his movement. Bunching muscles drove him upwards, his previously idle weapon shearing through fingers and hand, as it knocked an upturned rifle aside. Its unfortunate owner had little time to recognise the pain, as a razor-sharp edge sliced across his throat, effectively ending any cognitive processes.

Veteran Church Soldiers as they were, the remaining two men stood little chance. They were used to a cowering populace, not an angry and extremely skilful opponent. Even as they reflexively pulled the triggers of their rifles, Franklin was past them. Silvery flashes, followed by pearl-like strings of blood were all that showed the blindingly fast movement of his swords. Surprised faces looked down on now gaping wounds and limbless stumps, before they crashed down to oblivion.

Sir Franklin stared briefly at the men, checking them over quickly as he retrieved his pistol. Then, his bared swords held firmly in his hands, he disappeared into the Chapter House, the dead forgotten as he concentrated on the hope of finding some of his Brothers still alive.

*

It had been a useless and frustrating search, the Chapter House itself was damaged beyond recognition, yet there were few bodies. Franklin could only hope that the Brethren had been warned and had made good their escape. Those corpses he did find were of old Knights and servants, interspersed liberally with Church soldiers. Something was strange in all of this, the small contingent at the gate were perhaps not waiting specifically for him, rather any stragglers. This was a mystery he would not solve rooting around the refuse and detritus left by the departing soldiers. His news would have to wait to be shared. The burning priority was for him to make it to the Starport and the waiting Cardinal. A thought suddenly struck him, that was if the Cardinal had not been targeted as well!

Rapidly he exited the building, his half-run carrying him past the now cold corpses and down the steps. The sound of weapons cycling and the roar of an air-car’s engines stopped him in his tracks. Looking up, he recognised the Church’s livery on the vessel, as it settled lower, its automatic cannons whirring as they locked onto his position. Fighting human soldiers had been one thing, but a this close range, he was already dead. Even so, he grasped his swords tightly, determined to at least meet his end fighting.

A door on the side of the vessel opened, its ramp touching lightly to the floor, as the air-car maintained its hover. There was a shout and an Officer, in the now hated livery, hung slightly forwards and beckoned urgently as he quickly scanned the area. Sir Franklin shook his head, his weapons moving into ready position.

The man turned and shouted something into the vehicle and was then quickly joined by another, but this time in the welcome raiment of the Order. A smiling face urged him on and without further thought, Franklin sheathed his weapons and leapt on-board. Firm hands gripped his and, tears stinging his eyes, the Knight effusively shook hands with his friend and Master, Lord Shorn.

*

“So, what trouble have you been getting yourself into, my son?” asked the Order’s Master, settling himself as comfortably as he could into one of the bucket seats, bolted against the wall.

“It’s been a day of shocks and surprises,” commented Sir Franklin, a wry grin on his face, “you could say that I’ve had an epiphany, my Lord.”

“You met with the late Cardinal Krun then?” asked Shorn quietly, waiting for the news to sink in.

“How did you? ... the late?”, stuttered and stammered the Knight, finally just standing there, staring at his Master and waiting for some further information.

Once he had regained a little of his composure, Lord Shorn bade him take a seat and as the air-car raced across the sky, hugging whatever cover it could use to camouflage its precipitous flight, the Master detailed what had happened and where the rest of the surviving Brethren were. Sir Franklin sat quietly, overwhelmed by the depth of intrigue and conspiracy laid out before him, and of whose existence he had absolutely no idea. At times he had wanted to interrupt, to question his Master, but a quick glance of admonishment from the older man was all it took to silence him. It had ever been his way and Franklin once more felt like a callow youth, under the stern and challenging gaze of his teacher and mentor. Therefore he listened, fascinated as the story unfolded, the noise of their flight receding into the background under the mesmerising power of the narration.

Chapter Four Part One

Smoke rose wearily from the hastily made fire, as it spluttered in its grate. Whoever had attempted to light the mish-mash of wood and sticks was no expert, and small flames licked futilely at the oversized blocks in the fire’s centre. Large drapes were pulled tight against the windows, blocking the ingress of all but the smallest of lights and candles burned waxily on the central table.

A large, overweight man in a stained cassock sat in the room’s single chair and gazed pensively at the young man in front of him. In contrast, this individual’s dress was pristine. A brilliant white surcoat overlaying what appeared to be a chainmail vest. On this surcoat was emblazoned the seven point design of those belonging to the Church’s Militant Order, the Brethren. Close inspection would have shown the pistol holstered in the man’s belt and the pair of short swords crossed and held snugly against his back.

“Cardinal Krun,” the young man began arrogantly, his disdain for the obese and food-spotted clergyman obvious, “you summoned me?”

Krun smiled depreciatingly and then spoke, “Sir Franklin, that is true, and yet you actually came.”

Sir Franklin snorted in disgust and replied, “You are an instrument of the Church, My Lord,” he pointed out.

“Yes, and such a disreputable one, my dear Franklin,” replied the Cardinal, ineffectually trying to straighten his cassock.

“What is it that you want, my Lord, “ asked Franklin flatly, “there is much for me to do yet this day, so I would appreciate it if you were brief.”

Cardinal Krun laughed, his eyes glinting dangerously and belying the carefully maintained impression of ridiculous incapacity for his lofty position that he cultured.

“You,” he said flatly, the timbre of his voice changing, “will make time for me, sir!”

Surprise flashed across Sir Franklin’s face, but Krun held up his hand, forestalling further speech.

“And, you will do exactly as I say,” he spat viciously, “if, Sir Knight, you damn well know what is good for you.”

*

The Church and the One True Faith had begun as more of a political exercise. During the time of Urion, there had been clashes between the priesthood and Urion’s followers. This had basically been over wealth and power, more explicitly, the control of such. Urion had won, as he had in many other things, the debate by might of arms. He had ruthlessly forced the corrupt religious leaders to bow to his commands and had allowed them to practice a reformed version of their Faith. They worshiped the Great One, or at least the general populace did, the Hierarchy of the Church, in fact, only worshipped what they could personally see and touch and ruthlessly exploited their followers.

Urion had needed money to fund his campaigns and he had taken over the Church, filling his coffers with their followers’ donations. It had neither been his best, nor one of his most well-publicised acts, but it had in fact served as a real tool for change.

Militant Orders had been created whose function was two-fold; to fight at his side in the name of the Great One and also keep the machinations of the higher members of the Church in check. As time passed, these original purposes had been lost to all but a select few as the decline of Urion’s Empire signalled the rise once more to the power of the Individual Houses. Within that rise, was also a return to the exploitation of the masses by the priesthood, and in particular their return to the battlefield of politics.

Within the Church, there now remained one true arm of the Militant Orders, the Brethren, who prided themselves on their strict adherence to the tenets set down by Urion, and as such this explained the arrogant attitude of Sir Franklin, towards the overly proportioned Cardinal.

Krun, however, was not all that he seemed, he was also a member of a secret Order. They were the one’s responsible for spiriting away the last of Urion’s sons and keeping his family’s existence hidden. Unknowingly, it was them that Hyas worked for, as they kept tight control of the whereabouts of the holder of the fabled Belt.

Had he but known it, and the capacities of the Cardinal before him, Sir Franklin would have started his conversation with the man differently. Unfortunately, it was now too late, and the overbearing Knight was due a rapid and very rude awakening.

*

Cardinal Krun’s chubby fingers closed around the neck of a golden goblet, which lay at rest on a small table by the arm of his chair. Picking up the vessel, he swirled the ruby-coloured liquid within it gently, sniffing appreciatively before delicately sipping at it. Sir Franklin sneered, his contempt for the over-sized man before him poorly masked. This was, however, yet another of Krun’s little games; the liquid was nothing more than fruit extract, prepared to look exactly like the local wine, but with zero alcoholic impact.

Sighing contentedly, the cardinal smacked his lips and gently placed the goblet back on the table, his lips stained slightly with the rich colour.

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” snarled Franklin, turning sharply to leave.

“Enough!”, roared Krun, the irate Knight spinning back to deliver a cutting rebuke, but any such retort died on his lips as he stared into the open mouth of a flechette pistol. Neither was it just any such weapon, its deadly lines spoke volumes and the rock-steady and confident manner in which it was held, caused a rapid re-evaluation of the situation.

Involuntarily, Franklin’s hand strayed towards the butt of his own pistol, but the slight shaking of the Cardinal’s head forestalled any such move.

“You will listen to what I have to say,” stated the corpulent cardinal, “think carefully on your response and then give me your opinion. The manner in which you comport yourself and the basis of the aforementioned opinion, will determine your fate. Now, make yourself as comfortable as you can under the circumstances, and I will begin.”

As the Cardinal began to speak, Sir Franklin’s face displayed incredulity, dawning comprehension, amazement and then awe-struck wonder in swift succession. At last the large man finished and waited expectantly.

Tears formed in the Church Knight’s eyes and he crashed to one knee, his head bowed. Gently, the Cardinal reached out his hand and placed it on the now contrite Knight's head, “I know, I know,” he said gently, “and he needs you and your Order as much as his ancestor ever did.”

Then, more business-like, he continued, “I have a ship waiting, to take you to him. You can only bring a small contingent with you, for now. A full mobilisation of the Order would ring every alarm bell the Church has ever owned.”

“The Order has waited many years for this,” replied Sir Franklin, the change in his demeanour striking, “a short while longer will cause no harm.”

“Good, then it is agreed,” confirmed Cardinal Krun, “be off with you then, my boy. Get your men and equipment and meet me at the Spaceport, we will leave as soon as you are ready!”

Krun watched the Knight stride out of the door, his arrogance temporarily banished by jubilation. That won’t last, thought the Cardinal as he chuckled to himself, but it will do for now.

*

Sir Franklin took the front steps to the Order’s main Chapter House two at a time, his exuberant demeanour spilling over and affecting his normally reserved and respectful facade. It was his self-congratulating behaviour which blinded him to the strange situation facing him; the presence of Church soldiers guarding the front entrance to the Chapter House was more than unusual, it was impossible.

He was brought back to his senses by the flat of the hand placed against his chest, barring him entry. Looking up, he saw that the hand was attached to a Captain, whose white uniform, with blue piping clashed with the dark wood entrance.

“Halt!” commanded the representative of the Church, “and state your business!”

The Cardinal was not mistaken, the Knight’s arrogance surged to the fore, as he batted the restraining hand aside, ignoring the insistent official. A barked command set four armed soldiers in his path, their rifles pointing unerringly at the Knight’s chest and the sneer on their faces saying loudly that something had changed. Never would they have dared to impede the work of the Order, unless...

Franklin turned to face the now smirking Captain, his quick glance through the doorway revealing a slumped figure against the wall, a dark stain spreading around its feet. Apart from the Captain, the other four soldiers were the only visible Church presence, but he knew that this would not last for much longer.

“Your weapons!” snapped the Officer, his hand waving imperiously, full of confidence.

“Of course,” responded Sir Franklin, a disarming smile on his face, as he slowly withdrew his pistol and held it out by its muzzle.