Free Knight of the Cross by Steven A McKay

launching himself at the man who tried desperately to defend himself, swinging his wooden cudgel around and grinning as he felt it connect with the knight's bicep.
    The cultist's pleasure was short-lived though, as Jacob moved in and hammered his chain-mailed elbow into the man's mouth, smashing teeth and bone.
    Reeling but still alert, the guard's cudgel came round again, but Jacob threw his arm up, deflecting the blow harmlessly to the side and again battered his elbow into the cultist's face.
    This time the man stumbled and fell, landing shakily on one knee, and the sergeant-at-arms punched him in the side of the head, knocking him to the ground where he lay, cursing under his breath but too groggy to rise and defend himself.
    “How do we get down there?” Sir Richard demanded, grasping the man by the hair and yanking his head up viciously.
    “Fuck you!”
    The Hospitaller slammed the pommel of his dagger into the cultist's cheek, drawing a howl of agony from the man whose sinister black-pupiled glare turned at last from defiant to frightened. He tried to mask his anxiety by spitting in his inquisitor's face, but didn't have the strength and the bloody glob ran down his chin pitifully.
    “Listen to me,” Sir Richard said. “You can get out of this alive if you tell us how to get into the cavern from here. We're going to torture you until you do. So tell us now and save yourself a lot of pain.”
    The man thought about it for a moment, emotions creasing his sun-darkened face as he struggled to decide what to do before, almost hysterically, he screamed another “Fuck you!” at the Hospitallers.
    The chanting from underground had grown louder. They didn't have time for this.
    “Tell us, now!” Jacob roared, stamping down on the cultist's calf. The crack of bone snapping echoed around the room and the man screamed in rage.
    “Tell us!” Sir Richard repeated his sergeant's order, but the whimpering man simply shook his head.
    Jacob leaned down, dagger in hand and pressed the tip against the man's rectum. “You will tell us, right fucking now, how to get into that cavern or I'll stick this up your filthy arse.” He pressed on the blade, the point piercing the man's clothing and drawing blood.
    It was enough.
    The heretic, tears of humiliation coursing down his cheeks, told them what they wanted to know before Sir Richard knocked him out cold with another blow to the side of the head.
    “We're leaving him alive?” Jacob asked incredulously as his master tied the man's hands behind his back and left him face down on the hard stone floor.
    “Aye,” Sir Richard replied. “He told us what we wanted to know, didn't he? He's no threat now so I'm not murdering him while he lies there unconscious, there's no honour in that. Come on, let's get into that cavern!”
     
    * * *
     
    The chanting had grown louder as Stephen and Sir Jean de Pagnac led the Hospitaller force along the gloomy corridor to the cavern. Whatever ceremony the blasphemers were performing tonight was well under-way, judging from the near-hysterical shouting that assailed them as they neared the great chamber.
    “Our job is to stop anyone from escaping,” Sir Jean reminded the men behind him. “Don't kill anyone unless they're a threat. Hopefully these blasphemers will come along without a fuss.”
    Stephen laughed, cocking an ear in the direction of the chanting. “Are you hearing what I'm hearing?” he asked his master. “You think that lot are going to come along quietly, without a fight?”
    Sir Jean spread his hands wide, the torchlight flickering off his immaculate blade. “We can but hope,” he replied. “My sergeant is right, though,” he said, louder, turning so the mercenaries behind him would all be able to hear his words. “It's more than likely these people will defend this insane god they worship with their lives. So be it. If they attack us, kill them without compunction. If we can take prisoners, though, so much the better. A