Heir of Iron

Bart admired his friend's courage, but Rashid stepped down from his horse, his tulwar swinging readily at the end of his arm.

"Be that as it may — there are true monsters in that wood, and they will not bend to small steel and nimble footwork. They are savage, red in tooth and claw, and must be met as such."

"Bart will handle the monsters, no?" Nazir countered, and Bart looked up, his eyes haunted as the palsy shook him harder, none had noticed the fit as he swallowed his rising gorge, clenching his fists. All eyes turned to him, and a deep well of shame dropped his guts out of his belly — threatening to rob him of all strength and conviction as the Wendigo's leering presence stroked its claws down his back.

COME BARTHOLOMUS, MINE DOOR IS SWUNG WIDE, MINE HEARTH WARM.

Its talons drew down along his sides like a lover might, its breath hot and fetid — the sheer weight of it drove the air from his lungs... he couldn't go, it was waiting for them... waiting for him. He felt the eyes upon him like white-hot needles, and he looked up at his friends. Eyes to eyes he met each gaze in a rapid motion, seeing expectation and confidence in Nazir's gaze, worry in Naima's, duty in Rashid's and... as he came to Lidia, he saw fear. Fear not for herself, but for him — for her eyes were not upon his, but his quaking hands.

"I... fear I may not be able," Bart said in a small voice, drawing himself to his feet, leaning heavily upon the ravaged house's moss-covered frame and raising his hands, showing the shaking palsy that plagued him, his face a hideous mask of misery.

"I am not as I once was," he murmured shamefully, and Jules spat to the dirt again, his face full of unspoken judgment. Whitt, long silent looked to him square.

"Nay, none what live through such horrors are, laddie," he said, and Bart... watched his gaze slip from him, up to the air above him. The Elder stared straight at The Wendigo and its oppressive presence, stared it straight in the eye. Bart felt the monster's claws clench in him, possessive and jealous.

"Ye know what she'd say." was all Whitt said, his eyes dropping down to the bloodied doll again, and silence reigned. Nobody needed to ask who 'she' was.

Bart was stunned into silence... what magic did the old man possess? There was no way he simply looked dead at the creature's empty eyes and hateful face by chance. Bart's mind raced, had he been aware this whole time? Did he give off some kind of tell? A symptom of the beast's interest that the old mystic could see? Doubt clawed at his guts as he turned his head to the yawning, beckoning darkness...

"Bart," it was Nazir's voice, he was close now, the big Church Knight had not noticed the lithe southerner's approach in his turmoil, but he was here now — a surprisingly strong hand grasping his bicep, "Come," he said, and drew him back towards the horses away from the others. The big man could do naught but follow along, bearing the weight of the ravening apparition's own claws as they dug and tore at his flesh with illusory edges and all-too-real cuts upon his soul.

"Bart, brother mine I have watched you wither and buckle beneath this affliction, and my heart aches to see it." he whispered hoarsely as they stood apart, the lean man looking up at Bart and yet, he felt much taller to the churchman as he spoke; "I do not doubt your courage, I have seen it naked and bold in the line of fire. I do not find you to be a brittle man who would shy from danger, and I do not believe that is what holds you back now. Speak to me Bart, tell me how I may draw out whatever poison ails you, for these people." he said looking back at the doll, Whitt kneeling before it solemnly. The words stung but not from spite, but truth.

"I fear my weakness will take me, Nazir," he gasped and the creature dug its nails in further, causing Bart to clench his teeth as he felt the renewed assault on his soul, "Something... broke when I fell, at Lachheim, something vital. I fear only the Lady will put me right."

At that word — the raking talons quivered, the grip trembled. Nazir's eyes shone.

"I fear you may be right, but I have come to know you as a man, Brother mine. The man I know grit his teeth and fought while run through clean, and I do not believe that is what is broken in you, and I know neither do you," he said with a sureness of fact so clear it bordered on devotion. Nay, not bordered — That is what it was. Faith.

Faith in him.

Bart closed his eyes and looked within himself... Nazir was right, the palsy and pain was not of his body. He could see and feel the monster's claws in his heart, digging into that place he went to for strength, tainting it — dimming the light of God that he had cultivated. Anger suddenly boiled in him, black and tarry and full. The Wendigo's influence roiled around in his guts like an eel and smeared its gross ichor across his mind and spirit, dampening it and crushing him down.

Like kings. Like saints.

"Fight for me, Bart. Fight with this wounded heart as you did before, as you did in the streets before that hellish abomination." Nazir hissed, grasping Bart by the shoulders, his fingers clenching in — the tension was grounding. Bart clung to it like a lifeline.

"Rashid must stay here, I cannot bear to lose another innocent to the darkness and I trust him to guard our friends — but I must see this with mine own eyes, Brother mine." there was a fire in that golden gaze, a blaze of passion that stirred Bart's heart as he squeezed tighter, "I must stand up, for these people have twice now been forgotten by the world, left to the monsters. I cannot call myself a man if I continue to stand and let the bigger, safer men do the fighting."

"Nazir... you are not a warrior..." Bart reiterated Rashid's point and the smaller man shook him in anger.

"No! No, I am not!" he snapped and the fervor was crisp, sharp as a blade; "But I am a man of talents, quickness, and daring, and I will stand up and be counted, for the babes and their mothers if not my own damnable conscience!" he hissed, and his words stung with truth.

Bart... found he could not argue with that. The Wendigo's nails shuddered as Bart felt his chest swell with pride for his dear friend. He looked up and took Nazir's hand.

"I would be a poor vessel for The Lady's love if I denied such bravery," Bart said, and gritting his teeth he dug deep into his memory, faith was the wedge that he had been given. Faith was what he used. Squeezing Nazir's hand, the lean man squeezing back — Bart summoned every memory he had of his devotion. His study at the nave, the touch, feel, and smell of the Words of White, the Lady's Oath, and her illuminations. The ghostly touch of ivory mane and divine lips in dreams, the bright, golden glow of Her love filling him as it had in prayer, meditation, and even battle.

The raking talons shuddered, and the beast above him hissed.

"Lady In White, Queen of Love, I beseech thee — grant me strength to match my brother's zeal." he breathed, and in it was the inflection of prayer. Nazir grinned, squeezing his hand back.

"Learned One, Queen of Wisdom, I ask thee to steel my heart and steady my hands, for I have your work yet undone." he echoed, and a warmth seemed to grow between them as the creature hissed and yawned its jaws wide.

THY SHALT COME AND THY SHALT SEE. THY WILL KNOW ME BY THE END.

Yet and still, as defiantly as it bellowed for Bart's ears alone, the smoldering ember of faith in his heart burst into a great, golden conflagration at the monster's recoiling talons, Bart felt his chest swell and his body steady and he turned his head slightly, one blazing blue eye meeting that dead-eyed skull.

"Until the Pale Dawn calls me."

Defiance was the tone as it screamed at him, but it boiled away, recoiling from him as if burned, smote back by that which it could never understand. Faith.

Then, shrieking its rage... it was gone. Gone from his shadow, gone from the shadows around him. He felt it creeping at the barest edges, still lurking in the dark, pitiable parts of his mind — and in his fervor, he spat upon it. Good, let it remain in the darkest parts of his heart with shame. He would bear it like any scar, he had many. His eyes met Nazir's once more, and hollow and haunted as they were — there was steel in his gaze again.

"Hand me my axe. There is work to be done."

~ ~ ~

It took Bart little time to gird himself for battle, even as he found his center again the palsy plagued him — whatever curse the beast had laid upon him, the fires of faith merely dimmed it — he felt again that he would bear this monster's presence in some regard until death or the Lady cleansed it from him. He had faith that she could. Faith was all he had, but it was a mighty blade.

"Here," Lidia's voice came as his shaking hands struggled with his pauldron buckles; "I dinnae forget how this goes."

"Thank you, Lidia," Bart said honestly, letting his shoulders slacken, marshaling his strength as she worked, her nimble fingers threading and snugging the buckles where his still trembling hands struggled.

"I'm goin' wit' ye," she said, and Bart looked up at her.

"No." was all he said, and the word had the weight of a millstone.

"Ye cannae jus' decide that!" she spat in a huff; reaching over to strap the other pauldron tightly, Bart turned his body to aid her, and yet responded once more in kind.

"No."

"Ye're goin' in tae a fight an' ye know it! Let me help! I'm quick an' quiet jus' like the Pouf is!" she groused, and Bart caught her hand.

"And you have the sharpest eyes and keenest nose, and Rashid is here on his own to defend the caravan," he said sternly, meeting her gaze. "No, I need you here in case there are more than the four monsters in that dark place," he said, reaching down to tighten the straps across his brigandine. The little changeling gnashed her teeth but she took a breath.

"... Nae, ye're right. Ye fookin' bastard." she sighed, hugging herself a bit, avoiding his gaze; "An' fook ye for being so damn... logical an' shite." she huffed, turning back to him after the fact.

"Ye dinnae do anythin' stupid, the dandy's bold as brass an' I dinnae trust that fuckin' woodlouse wit' th' bow far as I can toss 'em — so ye need tae be th' sensible one."

"That's me, sensible." Bart agreed laconically, and Lidia rolled her eyes skyward.

"Promise me." she said with a sudden, sharp fervor, "Ye nae promise me an' I'll come followin' the second ye take yer eyes off me," she said — and by her tone that was a promise itself.

Rage boiled up into his guts, and a sudden and alien desire to slap her across the face and demand she does as told nearly leapt from him wholesale to reality, his teeth clenched and he drew in a breath, seeing the palsy and shake of his hand as he did. Clenching it tight he took a breath and then met her gaze once more. The ailment of his soul had been pressed down, but not erased.

"You're a menace, you know that?" he said tiredly, but a smile came to his haggard, unshaven face and he reached out, taking her hand in his, giving it a squeeze, "I promise. No more heroics than the situation dictates."

"Aye." she agreed, and smiled at him, squeezing his hand back as much as her tiny fingers could allow. Doubt still lived in his heart, but its nagging was quieter now. He had work to do. Lidia handed him his helmet.

"Go on then, time's a wastin'."

Bart took it, his gauntlets down in it as well. Tugging both on, he settled the visored barbute about his head, wincing as the straps caught his overgrown beard, but he fit it in place with a firm twist, snapping the visor closed. The steel was heavy, and his body quailed under the weight it had not borne in some many days. He was not cured, and his fear rested heavily upon him as he rose in his armor. Duty drove him on as cold sweat began to gather beneath the steel plate. The boiling fury still simmered inside of him as he lifted his axe, casting the cover from its blade and carrying the steel openly. The weapon felt almost alien now, and even as he rolled his shoulders he felt doubt creep in.

He was afraid. He had not the time for it.

"If we are not back by sunrise, take the cart and leave. Make for Fort Ivory." Bart said, his harness rattling as he fell into step alongside Jules and Nazir — the latter as well, had taken a moment to discard his bright, flowing tunic, wearing naught on his torso but his shirtsleeves and that heavy dagger, rolling the former up his lean, muscled forearms as they went.

"Go with God, my friend," Rashid said, his blade still in hand, the Akali having taken his role as protector of the caravan with his natural grace — it was his job long before they met Bart after all. Naima glared at Nazir, but her ire was clearly concern more than anger.

"Don't take any risks, brother!" she said sharply, stepping forward to briefly grasp her brother by his head, bumping her brow to his; "I've already pulled one man back from the grave, I'll trade ten more years just to box your ears proper."

"Of course, dear sister." He said, pulling away as Jules already had set down the trail, Bart turning along with them as Nazir jogged out... and both of them came up short as they found Whitt standing there, stout cane in hand.

"Ye won't get far wit'out me, 'Tis my people, and there's still as much fight as bits o' wisdom in these bones," he said, hefting that knobby little cudgel with a surprisingly steady arm, those eyes gleaming with that same hard-bitten determination endemic to these lands. Bart did not know what magic there was to the ancient man, but he had a bit of mysticism... perhaps the Old Ways weren't all superstition. God was mysterious, even to his chosen. Bart simply nodded and they all picked up the pace, the spry old man giving good as any, and the three vanished into the darkness.

The blackness was almost total, even as the last rays of the sun filtered down, coloring the woods the hue of fresh-spilled blood, the twisting trees of ash and yew grew gnarled and warped as the four men pounded down the uneven path — Bart stumbled here and there, his harness clanking and clattering while the three lighter men found their steps firmer and more sure.

"Ye announce us like a huntin' horn, Stormcrow." Jules groused as he moved ahead, easily outdistancing the others by virtue of his long legs and preternatural familiarity with the wood — this was his home, and he knew these hills and trunks better than Bart would ever dream. The big knight glowered at him from behind his visor, the gleam of the setting sun reflecting off his battered kit like he was already awash in gore — the Wendigo's laughter, hacking, wet and filled with mockery. His hands threatened to shake with palsy, and the creak of his gauntlets tightening around the haft of his axe was palpable as his growing anger.

"Worry not, these beasts have noses like bloodhounds." Nazir cut in, the lithe southerner ever surprising Bart with his agility as he moved through the encroaching branches and roots, his soft, pointed-toe boots making practically no sound in comparison to Bart's heavy, hobnailed boots, he raised a finger to the wind, at their backs, flowing down the canopied woodland towards the west.

"They will smell us long before Bart's din reaches their ears."

Jules clamped his jaw shut and continued running, the four men lapsing back into silence as the darkness deepened, the red dusk threatening to black out all light — and with it, hope.

It was nary a quarter-glass before the picture of the 'House' as it was called loomed up before them, suddenly out of the trees. Truly, they did not see the structure first — but the massive, earthen spire that pierced it. It was one thing to be told that the great, jagged tors were pieces of Crownspeak, hurled into the earth by God like spears — it was quite another to see the true evidence of it laid bare. The structure itself was a squat, primitive thing of stacked stone blocks carved by equally primitive hands in timeworn sigils and glyphs — ostensibly a ziggurat complete with a rough, blocky causeway of stairs all carved from pitted, dark stone.

At least it had been one day — before the great, towering spire had pierced it from above.

Verily had they seen it from afar as they had the many that stood like a great bed of nails up from the rolling hills of the Middlelands, but this one stood stark against the dark stone, its shale-like strata straight and true — driven down into fully half of the squat, squared-off pyramid — annihilating much of the structure and blasting chunks and whole flagstones free, where they lay still scattered like an errant cup of dice around the ruins of the place — long overgrown with moss, vines and creeping, entangling roots. Indeed much of the whole structure had been almost violently reclaimed by nature, resting beneath a clawing blanket of lichens and twisted, gnarled trees whose roots dug hungrily beneath the stone. Fetid water encircled it like a moat, stagnant and vile with a skin of scum and debris. Insects buzzed and wormed their way into clothes and armor, itching and irritating.

"If I did not know it to be a house of black-hearted evil before, the sight alone would tell me so." Nazir breathed as they all came to a rolling stop before the foreboding structure, the ground had been slowly descending on a shallow grade, and the ruins had sunk into the soft soil and depressed it along with its weight, creating a root-choked bowl that was snarled and obscured from afar by its writhing, spiteful branches. Nature itself trying to scrub this foul place from the face of its scarred, battered world.

A scream split the air, and in unison, each of them drew their weapons to hand, Bart's axe gleamed like a gore-soaked crescent in the falling dusk, Nazir's heavy blade flashing and a heavy broadhead came alive in Jules' fingers. The stairs were intact enough to climb, and the scuffs and smears of blood led up them, wet and fresh on the ancient stone.

"That's Tarja!" Whitt cried, and Bart set his feet, needing no further incentive as he took off at a sprint, axe held high. His vision flooded with red rage as he hit the stairs — the Wendigo's apparitions cackled and jeered at him as he stormed forwards — and at the crest of the stairs, familiar, hideous shapes emerged.

"GHULS!" Nazir shouted, the three men having followed Bart up the debris-riddled path as the four hulking figures barred the way, their semi-bipedal frames and massive razorback hunches standing out in sheer abominable wrongness against the darkening sky. Their hooting, ululating cries came as they came forward in a crush, too-large maws gnashing tusk-like teeth stained with blood and hideous limbs dripping gore, painting up their overlong arms in bright, unholy red.

"I'LL MIND THE BEASTS!" Bart bellowed as he dug deep for the fighting spirit, charging heedlessly into a four-on-one battle — he grasped for the warmth of his faith, his lips split in a battle cry that shook the very stones with its fervor as he closed the distance.

"LADY GRANT ME STRENGTH!"

His heart was like to burst as he felt the familiar surge of zealous might, the Words of White flashed in his mind, the edicts that bound a Knight-Brother to his duty.

"SUFFER NOT THE WICKED!" he roared, driving into the lead monster with a hammer blow of the axe, the weapon chopping into the beast's bony, faceless crown, chipping a gory chunk of the ossified flesh free and whipping the monster's immense skull to the side as all twenty-stone of Bart's weight carried with the weapon's bit. The beast staggered and missed a step, rolling into a heap down the stairs as Bart bulled past it, its second companion leapt upon him during the recovery — the Church Knight set his shoulders.