Free The Temporal Knights by Richard D. Parker Page A

hundred hardened warriors were creeping quietly toward the unsuspecting abbey.
    His men came up against the outer wooden wall and followed it to the west for fifty paces before coming across a sturdy oak gate. There was a small opening protected by iron bars along one side but as Ivarr peered through he could see no signs of activity beyond. As he studied the strength of the gate, he signaled his men to spread out and surround the abbey; he didn’t want any of the pathetic cowards inside slipping away with his spoils.
    Cowards they may be, but the Anglish monks knew how to build a gate. Even by flickering torchlight, Ivarr could tell it would take considerable effort to hack it down. They could fire it, but that would most likely warn the town and they’d likely loose what slaves they could capture. It was not a risk he wished to take without knowing what riches were tucked away within the monastery’s wooden walls. He’d likely come away with nothing if they didn’t play it very smart.
    But they were prepared for such an eventuality and soon dozens of ladders were propped up against the sides of the eight foot high outer walls. Ivarr led his men up and over the wall as quickly as possible but only about a third of them were inside the perimeter before cries of alarm filled the early morning air. It mattered little, most of the religious men tried to flee and were hacked down, though near the end a few actually stood their ground and attempted to fight. They showed bravery, which Ivarr commended, but they died almost as quickly as their more cowardly brethren. The entire attack was over within a thirty minutes, and though Ivarr was first over the wall, he’d only had the pleasure of killing one man…an old one at that. The fool had come screaming at him with a hayfork, which Ivarr knocked aside with little effort.  His attacker stumbled and was trying to regain his footing when Ivarr swung his heavy war axe. The weapon was Ivarr’s pride and joy, and had a blade sharp enough to shave the coarse black hairs from a whore’s nipple. The axe cleaved off a third of the man’s skull and pushed easily through the monk’s left eye before slicing through his jaw and burying itself deep into the man’s sternum. Ivarr spent the rest of the fight in frustration, trying to wrench the bloody thing out of the old man’s body.
    His frustration only grew when after an hour of searching they’d only found two objects worth the effort, a silver chalice ringed with semi-precious stones and a small ornate tapestry that would probably earn them very little. There was no gold, no silver and but a few coppers among the dead men.
    Ivarr didn’t waste any additional time, instead he ordered the attack on the town, which was without the benefits of a wall, but there would be dogs all around to warn of their approach. So they encircled the town at a distance and attacked fast just as the sky in the east began to change from black to purple.
    Many of the town’s five hundred souls died just as quickly as their holy neighbors to the north, but Ivarr and his men were very careful to kill only when absolutely necessary, which meant every man over the age of thirteen. They spared the younger boys and girls and of course the women, at least those who did not feel the need to brandish weapons and charge into the fray, thankfully there were very few intent on dying. Once resistance was quelled, the town was put to the torch and his men rounded up a half dozen of the more comely citizens of Gloucester and presented them to their War King.
    Six women could be stripped bare surprisingly fast by twenty eager men with their blood up from fighting and killing. Ivarr watched the proceedings with a fair bit of trepidation as the naked women were parading before him. He studied them all very closely. One older woman had a face so fair she almost made the others seem unsightly, but her teats hung flat and sad from nursing her many young. Another had