193 God Wills I (1/2)

Henry's steed charged towards the line of Punishers. He was quick, angling the weapon straight. His sight was reserved only for Tobias.

Several Punishers leapt to shield Tobias from Henry's gift of death. One received his thrust. The tip of the lance perforated the breastplate- a rare deed for a knight's armor is a plated steel. But Henry, ever the master of mounted warfare, knew where to deal his strike.

The Punisher grimaced, grabbed the shaft of the lance with two hands, and attempted to yank the weapon out. With a flick of his wrist and the help of his other hand, Henry twisted the lance.

The Punisher screamed in a voice so eerie it made Henry's hair stand on end. He let go of the lance, took a reserved mace on the side of his steed and bashed the Punisher. The ugly helm crumpled and the Punisher went down.

The other knights also made contact, pushing the Punishers back with the sudden charge. They should have won already. Their charge was perfect. But Henry discovered how dangerous a fanatic is. The Punishers all screamed. It was a collection of screams. It was so loud and disturbing that he wanted to cover his ears. It was like a mix between a dying last breath and the sound of an agonizing animal.

The Punishers held the knights- mindless they fought like the crazies that they are. It would be a long battle and a losing one.

Henry reminded himself of the real purpose. It was to rescue the captured knights. He pulled the leather reins and angled his horse towards the platform where his captured knights were.

”The hostages!” Henry shouted as he rode towards the platform.

**********

Stan was barefoot. His toes grasped the wood beneath. His hands were tied behind with his wrists bound by iron chains. He was naked except for the thin trousers the Punishers provided him. He felt more naked without the usual heavy armor he wore.

Several horsemen emerged from the dark alley earlier. The one leading, a person of Henry's stature, wore the attractive cape of a Grand Master. He thought it was Henry and confirmed the thought when he saw the way the front man rode. It was Henry.

The horsemen slammed against the Punishers like how the wind would blow a stalk of bamboo to one side. But also like the bamboo, the Punishers were quick to push back. Now it was melee and now it was bloody. Those in the front lines were trapped in a long cycle of exchanging blows and waiting for a lucky one. Armor prolongs the battle and nobody wears more armor than knights.

Stan eyed the serf pushed into the flames the ugly statue. The screaming had stopped. That man who pleaded for his life earlier was dead. Only a black smoke rose from pot. Stan felt dread.

A Punisher who shoved the man's face into the burning pot strode towards him. Hand on his sword's hilt, the Punisher drew his weapon. Pure steel, professionally forged and well-maintained, the sword presented a terrible outcome for Stan and the others- especially for him as the Punisher seemed to be Charlie his old pal.

He wiggled his back. He tried to stand. It was as difficult as a newborn trying to walk. He was able to and just in time to dodge the strike of the Punisher's long sword. He could hear the wind breaking just in front of him. He saw a quick reflection of his face on the fast-moving blade.

Stan ducked, avoiding another strike. He rolled to the side and fell to the road. The fall was a good few feet, his shoulder almost dislocated. The Punisher jumped from the platform. His two feet landed at the same time. Still with the long sword, the Punisher angled another strike towards him.

There is nothing he could do, Stan thought. His head would leave his shoulder. His blood would gush from his severed neck. It would be a terrible sight.

A horseman hit the Punisher with a mace. The iron head hit the ugly helm. Like a doll tossed by a tantrum-driven child, the Punisher was hurled back. Blood dripped from the crumpled helm. The wearer lay without motion in the road.

Stan looked up to his savior. Golden brown cape painted with the symbol of a broken crown amidst a rising sun- that's what he first saw.

”Turn around. I'll take off the chains” Henry's voice sounded behind the helm.

Stan almost teared. It was Henry. He presented his chained hands and Henry freed him with spare keys provided by another knight. The other captives were also freed.

Stan felt his wrists. The lack of chains was a strange feeling- but a welcomed one.

”I knew you would come Grand Master” Stan looked at the Punisher who tried to kill him earlier ”May I borrow a weapon?”

Henry handed him a long sword and Stan held it firm as he approached Charlie his old pal. The lunatic was still heaving short breaths. Stan kicked Charlie's sword away. He knelt.

Lifting Charlie's visor, he again saw the scarred face of his old friend. One cheek was deformed. The bone was probably ground. A stream of blood trickled from Charlie's mouth. Stan pulled down the coif and exposed Charlie's neck. He pointed the tip of the sword on top of an artery.

”Fire and Brimstone shall cleanse what is evil”

Stan pressed the sword. Charlie's blood wetted the blade. The lunatic glared at him with eyes filled with hate. Soon that glare faded into death. Charlie the lunatic was gone.

Stan rose and gave Henry back the sword.

”Keep it” Henry said ”Also that's pretty cold-blooded of you Stan”

”Aye” Stan eyed the man whose face was shoved into the blue flames earlier. The body was limp. ”But not as cold-blooded as them. We should go Grand Master. King Brice's would soon reinforce the lunatic”

Henry gave a single nod. He raised his hand.