Free Knight of the Cross by Steven A McKay Page A

show trial and public executions will deter others from following this filthy 'god' of theirs.”
    As they neared the cavern they saw more guards arrayed before them. The devil-worshippers had learned their lesson from Sir Richard and Jacob's previous visit and had placed half-a-dozen armed men at the end of the tunnel to stop any more intruders. They hadn't expected a force as large as this, obviously, or there would have been more of them, but even so, Sir Jean knew after their earlier fight with the guards at the front door that these men would not back down, even in the face of their imminent doom.
    “Take them!” Sir Jean ordered, pointing his sword at the guardsmen, who all had the same sinister black-pupiled eyes as well as bucklers and short-swords. One of them detached himself from the main party and sprinted down the nearest flight of stairs, no doubt to raise the alarm. “Take them!” the knight repeated.
    The men behind him, Stephen included, streamed around him, swords drawn, and engaged the blasphemers efficiently and ruthlessly.
    Although the men under Sir Jean's command weren't brother-knights, or even sergeants for the most part, they did wear decent quality light armour, carried sharpened blades of high-quality steel and had been given good training. The guards on the other hand were simple villagers. Poorly armed and untrained they fought with the fury and single-minded belief of religious fanatics, but they were too unskilled to stand against the Hospitallers and the one-sided battle was over within moments.
    Sir Jean moved past the bodies to look down on the still chanting congregation below. The guard that had run to raise the alarm was waving his arms towards the altar but the shouts of “Arra! Arra! Arra! Dagon! Dagon! Dagon!” filled the air as the masked priest bent to cut the throat of a woman who struggled against the burly worshippers holding her down against the cold stone until her life-force drained from her body and she lay still.
    The priest obviously couldn't hear the guard's warning, and the congregation were too far gone in their murderous ecstasy to take any notice of yet another excited man shouting at them.
    Stephen stared at the horrific tableau beneath, his eyes flaring in outrage at the sight of the dead woman and the two children that stood, screaming in grief and terror behind her lifeless corpse. He turned to look at his master, Sir Jean de Pagnac. “In God's name, we can take no prisoners here,” he growled. “These bastards deserve no mercy.”
    The French knight nodded. “I agree. We should wait until Sir Richard appears though. If we just start wading into them the priest might escape out the back door in the confusion and take his twisted religion to some other village.”
    “Well Sir Richard better hurry up then,” the sergeant-at-arms replied, turning back to the hideous ritual below. “It looks like the priest has a young woman to sacrifice after the two children.”
     
    * * *
     
    As they hurried through the dark tunnel underneath St Luke's – a cramped, low affair this one, which looked like it might collapse upon them at any moment – Sir Richard and his cursing sergeant-at-arms could hear the euphoric shouts of the gathered worshippers and knew it signalled the end of some other poor bastard's life in the name of this ancient Dagon.
    “Come on!” Sir Richard raised his pace as the chanting, rather than falling away after the sacrifice, continued at the same volume. “They must have another victim lined up!”
    Their cautious jog became a breathless sprint, the desire to prevent the death of yet another innocent proving greater than their own sense of personal safety.
    The tunnel was short, praise God, and they barrelled into the great cavern, blades held before them defensively as their eyes adjusted to the light and their ears rang from the chants of the gathered throng.
    “Arra! Arra! Dagon!”
    The masked high-priest stood at the sacrificial altar