The Ancient Evil, page 8
part #25 of Red Cross of Gold Series
“But, what of this chaos my grandfather speaks of? If the Ancient One returns Chaos to the earth, then where will man go? There will be no earth as we know it!”
“I don’t believe God intends to allow that to happen. Besides,” Izzy looked up at the blue orbs still swarming about under the roof. “When you look up at the stars in the universe, do you really believe earth is the only world where we might live?”
“So, what is the point of doing this?” Omar asked the ultimate question, of the one member of the Council, he felt would be, least likely, to be able to answer it.
“The point is to never give up.” Izzy told him, lightly. “That is the legacy of the divine spark in all of us, and the Holy Blood that runs in our veins. We will never give up, until God takes us home. It is what we are here for. We are the gladiators of God! We entertain Him with our love and our devotion to Him. He is our Father, and He gave us this world through Sophia, and she is His daughter whom He loves. Besides, I sort of like it here, don’t you? I like the island, and the sea, and the blue sky. I like to watch the flight of the falcons from the mews, and I like the sounds of the seabirds in the cliffs, and the smell of Louis’ barbecue.” Izzy’s cherubic face crinkled into a smile. He leaned close to Omar and lowered his voice to a whisper. “And, I’m a virgin, my friend. I don’t intend to die a virgin. There is a girl that lives in Peel with her father and her two sisters, and I intend to marry her before Christmas.”
“Oh!” Omar sat back from his young Master and smiled at him. “That clears everything up.”
“Good! Now, I suggest, we get some sleep. We’ll be up early in the morning, if I know the Brothers Ramsay.” Izzy yawned and lay back on his blanket.
Chapter Four
Be not over much wicked, neither be thou foolish: why shouldest thou die before thy time?
Izzy had been right. Mark Andrew went through the camp at two-thirty in the morning, rousting them out of bed. Dawn came very early to the northern islands in the summer. There would be no sunrise, but if there were, it would be early, and he had to assume the King, like all good military campaigners, would want to start early, finish early, and get home in time for supper. They were up, and fed, and watered, and dressed in everything they had brought with them by three. The Knights of the Red Cross of Gold put on their full dress uniforms with chain mail, gloves, and helmets. The Knights of the Red Cross of God wore their own uniforms of similar design, all emblazoned with the familiar red cross patee on black or white mantels and surcoats. They wore tall leather boots, silver spurs, and carried long daggers, and broadswords. It was the first time in hundreds of years a force on horseback carrying only weapons designed for close, hand-to-hand combat, arrayed themselves against the forces of a modern army. The king’s marines were armed to the teeth with every modern weapon available. To any outside observer, it would have seemed pathetic or laughable, but there was no laughter among the Templars and the Tuathan troops ranged in three separate companies about the eastern and southern edges of the encampment. Lemarik held his small troop of Templars to the northernmost point in two lines of twenty-four each. South of his band and facing east, were the soldiers and Knights of the Red Cross of God under the command of Peter Rushkin and the Seneschal of d’Brouchart’s other Order, Lech Levinski. Ten Knights in full armor, twelve apprentices likewise fitted and mounted, and seventy-five foot soldiers armed, not only with the primitive weapons of the Masters, but also carrying laser-sighted, automatic rifles, plasma grenade launchers, and pistols formed up behind them in three groups of twenty-five, five abreast and five deep. To the southeast was a formation of fifteen Tuathan archers. Facing south were the members of the Red Cross of Gold, plus Nicholas and Gregory, Vannistephanetti and Selwig, and the aging Wolfgang Schumacher. Then, southwest, another fifteen Tuathan archers. To the west of the pavilion were King Corrigan’s troops, numbering twenty-five more archers, twenty five mounted lancers, and fifty foot soldiers armed with swords, knives, and axes. In the northwestern corner were the woodland elves of the Center who had arrived just after midnight. They were led by Sir Armand de Bleu and King Il Dolce Mio and consisted of fifty archers, fifty lancers, and seventy-five foot soldiers armed with slingshots, stilettos, swords, and long knives. Already, the distinctive sounds of their music filtered through the camp, muffled, but gladly welcomed in the gloom.
Queen Ereshkigal had a seat of honor upon the rocks of the cairn and with her were Oriel Champlain and Lydia Schumacher who were, in spite of, their protests, still commissioned to watch over Catharine de Goth who held the crystal skull of Santa Lucia in her lap as they sat near the Queen in the darkness. Catharine seemed fascinated with the Queen and found many conversational topics in which to engage the queen, much to the others’ dismay. The Queen seemed to enjoy Catharine’s company. Remy Touchet was also with the women and to their immediate north was an entire host of the Unseelie Court of Faery creatures including a vast number of Dybbukym swimming in the murky air over the canopy, and other wildly raucous creatures with ferocious teeth and claws for weapons. Mark Andrew had questioned the Queen about the Boggarts who had attacked her troops in Lothian, but Ereshkigal had no idea who might have been sending the goblins to harass her. Between the Queen and Lemarik’s lost Templars was a horde of boggans armed with spiked clubs and maces, led by their unlikely captain, Plotius. All told, the fighting force was estimated to be approximately seven hundred to seven hundred and fifty. A very pitiful number, indeed, to face the King of England’s Royal Marines, but they looked good.
The number of faery musicians continued to grow as the Tuathans, woodland elves, and boggans worked together to find a compromising rhythm for the impending battle.
Shortly after four a.m., Lemarik spotted the first lights of approaching vehicles, as the King’s forces approached from the east, just as Mark Andrew had predicted. A few minutes later, another line of artificial light appeared away to the south, and they could hear the engines of the all terrain vehicles and light, armored trucks as they approached, slowly, over the rocky terrain. An eerie quiet fell over the troops surrounding the pavilion as more lights approached from the west and the north. They were, completely, surrounded. The lights of the vehicles only proved the King was quite confident his enemies possessed no modern weaponry that could be trained on the lights and deliver damage afar off. They drove in boldly to within half a mile of the pavilion and ringed the opposing army with bright flood lights. More lights were brought in and played over the ranks of Templars and their allies. They held their ground as the enemy surveyed them, and, then, no doubt, sat back and laughed at them. Their unlikely ‘orchestra’ began to beat out an ominous beat, very slowly, under the canopy, as they combined their varied talents and instruments, to make music no one had ever heard before in this world or any other. The sound of it made chills course up and down the spines of the Templars, as they stood or sat on their mounts, waiting for what would issue from the enemy lines.
Queen Ereshkigal stood on the topmost rocks, perusing the enemy with eyes that saw directly through the gloom and past the glare of the lights. She raised her arms over her head and sent her Dybbukyms into action. They swirled in mesmerizing patterns in the air, outlining the dark, roiling clouds in deep red. Many more spewed from cracks in the ground and shot into the air like sparks from a tremendous bonfire, before converging, and, then, flying out in all directions, screeching, and screaming, and playing their orange-red lights over the King’s troops. The Templar forces stayed put and listened with grins and smiles, as the marines fired their weapons wildly, screaming and shouting at the tearing, ripping claws of these things; they would, no doubt, consider demons from hell. The confusion lasted several minutes, and, then, the Queen began to bombard them with the sooty black blobs from her cloud, knocking them about like limp scarecrows, as they dodged and rolled about the ground, fighting off the Dybbukyms. Their commanders were shouting for them to get the grenade launchers in place, in order to, send in the gas, but the soldiers were having a very hard time keeping their footing, as they were pummeled by the black blobs that came out of nowhere and were then accosted, bitten, and scratched by the attacking red menaces. Some of them became possessed by the shape-shifting faeries and ran off, laughing and giggling into the darkness to ‘dance and play’. By pre-arranged design, the Queen kept her forces from attacking King William Henry’s entourage.
King William’s personal force was situated behind the lines of the marines in six heavily armored ATV’s. When the attack began, the King got out of the vehicle to better see what was happening, against the advice of Commander Hemsley and Sergeant Major Few. When he ignored them, they followed reluctantly; as the king’s personal guard surrounded him, and tried to make sure he was covered. Amazingly, none of the red-orange creatures or black missiles approached the King’s party, as he made his way to the front lines. He watched in disbelief, as the soldiers were beaten and knocked down again and again, as they tried to set up their launchers on the stony ground. The sight of some of the heavily armed soldiers leaping about, frolicking happily, amidst the chaos was shocking.
“I suggest, we try another tack, Your Grace!” Major Few shouted at him above the melee. “Let the men go in now with their rifles and grenades!”
“No!” The King shouted back at him. “I want them alive!”
The attack, suddenly, broke off, and the Dybbukyms retreated back to the skies above the pavilion. The last of the black blobs flew past them, and a semblance of order returned quickly, as the unaffected Marines, regrouped and began to work on their weapons again. The King made his way to the very front of the line where the trucks carrying the sweeping search lights were located.
“I want to see them!” He told the soldiers in the truck as the sounds of drums, pipes, and myriad percussion instruments drifted to their ears. “By God, they’ve brought a band!” He looked about in shock. “Let me see them!” He shouted again.
The men maneuvered the light across the lines of Templars facing them on the east side of the pavilion. He could see their helmets glittering and their white mantles with the red crosses. He could see Lemarik’s sparkling armor, and he could make out the horde of black lumbering shapes of the boggans as they jumped, and howled, and brandished their wicked clubs, stomping, incongruously, to the musical beat. In the dark, the small force seemed much more sinister than it was.
“Where is Ramsay?” He turned to his commanders.
“I don’t know, Sire!” Hemsley shouted. “They all look the same from here.”
“What is that there?” The King pointed to a spot halfway between them and the enemy forces.
The Marines trained the light on the indicated spot. A long line of glittering metal objects lay on the salted ground.
“What is that?” The Major squinted at the stuff.
“Send someone out to fetch a piece of it!” The King ordered, and the major jerked his head at one of the marines on the truck. The soldier jumped down and ran across the ruined landscape. He bent to retrieve something, and then hurried back.
“Your Highness.” The soldier bowed before William Henry and held out the object for his perusal.
The King took the broadsword in his hand and looked at it in puzzlement.
“Why would they abandon their weapons on the field, Arnold?” William Henry turned to the commander.
“I haven’t the foggiest notion.” Hemsley raised both eyebrows.
“Why, there must be hundreds of weapons out there, Your Grace!” Major Few swayed back and forth, squinting into the gloom as the lights played over the piles of weapons.
“That doesn’t make sense.” William spun on his heel. “What is wrong with the launchers? Why haven’t they fired?”
In answer to his question, a frightened, out-of-breath sergeant rushed out of the darkness and saluted before bowing in confusion.
“Sir! Sire! Your Graciousness!” He gasped. “The grenade launchers won’t work. We can’t deliver the gas. They won’t fire!”
“What do you mean?” The King frowned at him.
“They won’t fire, sir! It’s as if they have all been sabotaged or jammed in some manner. They simply won’t fire!”
“Hemsley! Few!” The King snarled in rage. “Give the order to prepare a charge. Send in the men with live weapons. They had their chance! Enough is enough. To hell with the plan! Kill them all! Try to find Mark Ramsay for me!!”
Few pulled his radio from his belt and began to bark orders into it. After a few seconds, he discovered the radio was useless. He had to send runners with instructions along the lines. A group of marines bearing long-range rifles with tripods fell out from the line of vehicles and ran toward the enemy troops, and then fell on their stomachs making ready to give cover fire to the next rank that fell out with automatic rifles and charged toward the Templar encampment. The marines ran screaming toward the unmoving enemy, until they were within range, and then fell on the ground. They sighted in on the targets and opened fire… or so they thought they did. Nothing happened when they pulled the triggers on their rifles. The men rolled on their sides and worked furiously on their weapons for a few seconds. They tried shooting again and nothing happened. Several of them pulled grenades from their belts and threw them at the line of mounted Knights. The grenades fell onto the ground and rolled about harmlessly, some even rolling under the horses’ feet, causing them to prance about, nervously. The marines, completely confused, sat up on the ground, unsure of what to do next, waiting for someone to give them orders. The drums and music began to build in volume and intensity, and the Queen set loose her Dybbukym on the disoriented soldiers causing them to flee back to the safety of their vehicles.
Within a very short space of time, the Royal Marines had retreated to their vehicles and were again fighting off the Queen’s Unseelie Court with daggers and bare hands. Again, she refrained from attacking the King and his immediate vicinity.
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Mark Andrew had left his place, at the far right, of the line of Knights, as soon as, he had heard of the King’s approach from the east. It was just as he had imagined it would be. He had come from the west, and this King from the east. If the sun were indeed to rise, it would stand against them. He rode his horse out in front of the lines of the Red Cross of God and up the length of the forces to where Lemarik sat on his white stallion.
“Ho, Adar!” Lemarik smiled and saluted his father with his sword. His long purple plume was illuminated by the searchlights and the nosepiece of his Trojan-style helmet cast his face in deep shadow. “They have retreated in terror. The good Queen’s little pets are harassing them miserably. And, their King is most distressed!” The Djinni’s excited sing-song voice made him smile.
“Aye, it twud seem so.” Mark reined his horse around to sit beside the Djinni. He wanted the King to see him.
“You will spur him to battle, my father!” Lemarik laughed, as his father drew his sword and held it aloft. The mighty Djinni drew his own sword and swung it around his head in a great circle. A blue glow erupted beneath Mark Andrew’s horse and illuminated him like a statue in a museum. “He will see you now by all the Graces!”
“Exactly so!” Mark kicked his horse and rode down the line, shouting in Gaelic. The light followed him. He was surprised to see Luke Andrew riding toward him, also dressed in his Ramsay red kilt and holding his own golden sword aloft. They met in front of Rushkin and circled about each other, as the King’s searchlights bobbed and tried to keep up with them. They slid from their horses and brandished their swords at the enemy, shouting insults at the King in several languages. When the lights were trained fully on them, they both turned and flipped their kilts over their backs, giving the King a rare treat and a good look at their bare backsides before turning around and repeating the rude gesture front on. The Templars in Lemarik’s troop, as well as, the members of the Red Cross of God, all raised their weapons and shouted in support of the challenge, finishing with a great whooping round of laughter which was quickly followed by an even more raucous uproar from the horde of excited boggans. The music continued a slow crescendo as Mark and his irreverent son traveled along the front to the south and repeated the process there for the troops amassed south of the pavilion. When they rode to the west, Michael and Galen had joined them, and the hooting and warbling of the Tuathans was deafening. They were met on the northwest corner by Armand and Il Dolce Mio, who helped them in their efforts to goad the enemy, by parading up and down in the spotlights, hurling insults and guffawing in their faces. The Queen truly liked this display and sent her Dybbukyms swirling about them, as they performed their rude dances, for the pleasure of the Royal Marines who were still trying to make their defunct weaponry work.
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The effect on the King was just as Mark Andrew had hoped, and his commander was unable to calm him. He demanded the marines retrieve the weapons laid out on the ground and arm themselves to fight the Templars with the primitive weapons with which they had, virtually, no training. The Major objected and begged the King to retreat to the shore and bombard the enemy encampment from the safety of the ship. But, the King would not listen. He would not retreat! The lights had given them a very good estimate of the forces that surrounded the pavilion, and he had them outnumbered four to one! In his opinion, they could simply overwhelm them in numbers. He pointed out, derisively, half their numbers consisted of diminutive creatures that resembled adolescent boys armed with sticks and knives. The western contingent had reported the elven and Tuathan soldiers facing them may have even been young girls, armed with nothing more than short swords, bows and arrows, and lances. The only real danger, he could see, would come from the fully armored Knights on horseback. In direct opposition of his learned military advisors, he gave the command for the marines to arm themselves with the conveniently supplied weapons, completely ignoring the fact the weapons had been put there precisely for this reason. Ramsay had somehow managed to even the odds a bit, by using some devilry to bollix their weapons.
