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- Herausgeber: Clink Street Publishing
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Serie: The Sacred Band Trinity
- Sprache: Englisch
Following the events of 'Palladium' - the sacred statue born of ancient Greece, has been found. The knights of the White Dragon wield both the Palladium and the Necklace of Harmonia once again, a power strong enough to both create and topple empires. The world however, remains largely unchanged since the Red Dragon encountered their foes at Tintagel, leaving them to wonder exactly what their former brethren of the Round Table have planned. Meantime, a legendary relic entwined to both factions has had its own calling, with one Knight in particular having to rise to the challenge.
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Seitenzahl: 208
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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iii
CONTENTS
v
CHAPTER 1
Battle of the Somme, Northern France
18th November 1916 AD
‘Are we not Hell’s last issue?’ Craig chuckled as he craned his neck round the stock of his rifle in a vain attempt to see beyond the peaks of mud and mangled wire to the German trenches, desperate for any sign of movement to justify his frostbitten finger on the trigger.
‘Pray we’re not at that point yet lad.’ Duncan joked in response, observing his own breath against the bitter cold air. The two had been stationed in the muddy squalor of the trenches aligned with the River Ancre for what felt like an eternity now, more precise measurements ranging from a few weeks to several days depending on the morale of the soldier whom you asked. British success had reached the Highland Light Infantry some days before, with the 39th Division achieving its objective of capturing the Schwaben Redoubt and holding firm overnight. Despite extremely poor visibility and inclement weather, all could smell the lingering scent of death streaming down from the trenches beyond. Stomachs would twist, emotions would drain, 2chatter would be reduced to taciturn responses. There were no victors here.
The six-o-clock morning haze prompted a squint from Duncan as whistles to action made their way down the trench. Orders were spat with vitriol concerning King and Country, intended to be spirit rousing, but now stale as the bread the soldiers had been chewing on for over a year now. Something about enemy trenches of Munich and Frankfort was bellowed, meaning very little to all around the division, their only true objective being to stand, shoot and try to stay alive.
Craig gripped Duncan’s hand in anticipation of the final command, still straining to see through the grey sleet falling in front of them. ‘How are we supposed to know where we’re going?’ he barked.
‘Easy. Just walk forward until people start shooting at you.’ Duncan smiled.
A scramble of well-worn boots began to make their way up the make-shift timber ladders, faces greeted with the chill of the winter air. Fingers tightened around rifles as tentative steps were taken through pools of stagnant water, the occasional slip resulting in an audible splash and curse. Regurgitation of that morning’s breakfast was common, especially on the sight of a fallen comrade or the bloated corpse of a horse.
‘Do you think we’ve caught them off guard?’ Craig said with a hint of optimism. Duncan did not respond, but scanned left and right as his compatriots moved in an uneven line. The silence was making him feel very uncomfortable. A volley of bullets that burst from the opposing ranks in front almost provided him with some relief, the adrenaline doing its job as shouts were given to cover and lie low. Puffs of red came from both Duncan’s sides as two lean soldiers fell face first, one catching on the coiled wire. Craig continued to hold Duncan’s hand, breathing rapidly but not yet in panic as more bullets followed.
‘We can crawl through,’ he exclaimed. ‘Follow me.’
Duncan felt Craig’s hand slip from his as he eagerly hauled his 3way over mud mounds belly down, the soles of his boots soon all Duncan could see.
‘Craig. Mate, wait.’ Duncan pleaded as more soldiers fell from the fire. Several had reached the tip of the Frankfort Trench, furiously aiming their rifles down and shooting at whatever looked or sounded German, some making it into a trench, others falling lifelessly. Craig was now out of sight.
The stillness of night was approaching fast. Duncan had not dared move from his position of shelter, hands clamped over his ears to drown out the cries of anguish and isolated explosions falling within metres of him, fountains of soil raining down on his back. The air was thick with smoke and gunpowder, packing a subtle heat. He braved a look forward, little of the landscape had changed other than the scatter of unfortunate bodies, atop which thin layers of snow were just starting to cake. The quiet offered enough reassurance to move carefully towards the edge of the Frankfort trench, rifle frozen solid but trigger still poised. He peered down, expecting a bullet through the eye, but thankfully was met by fellow members of his division.
‘Welcome to the Glasgow Boys Brigade,’ came a welcome Scottish accent from below, arm stretched out in assistance, seized by Duncan.
‘What’s going on? Have the Germans retreated?’ he asked.
‘Not a chance,’ tutted the short, haggard-looking soldier nursing a wound on his lower right leg. ‘Jerry’s cut us off. Can’t move forward or back. So much for reconnaissance!’ came a growl. Men around him struggled to light cigarettes, given the shakes that had set in over the past few hours, many just staring vacantly skywards. Duncan panned around for Craig, lifting the helmets of a few obscured soldiers – breathing or not – for a sign of his presence. Nothing.
‘Who’s this Craig lad you’re after?’ the short soldier asked.
‘My friend. Country lad from Inverness.’ Duncan replied, before giving a vague description. 4
‘Ah, proper Highlander you say? Black short hair? My height?’
‘A little taller,’ Duncan said mildly so as not to offend on grounds of physical stature. The soldier turned and called for a gentleman by the name of Ben, and a ranked officer appeared, battle worn and dejected, but through the soiled face Duncan could see handsome, typically Caribbean features. The retelling of the search by the soldier pulled the officer’s expression lower and lower in sombreness.
‘A scar on his forehead, you say? Just above the left eye?’ Ben concluded in a warming West Indies accent. Duncan nodded in confirmation. A path was cleared to the wounded and dead, soft whimpers unsettling Duncan as he stepped carefully around victims, following the officer. Stained sheets lay over bodies, the corner of one stripped back to reveal the punctured torso of Craig, eyes closed, peaceful.
‘The lad fought well, shot at least three Jerries before being struck by the fallout from a mortar shell,’ Ben commentated. Duncan wasn’t listening. Kneeling closely by his lover’s side he gripped his hand while lowering his head to hide any signs of grief. ‘I’ll give you a moment,’ Ben offered.
The jigsaw of memories would take more than a moment to arrange for Duncan, try as he might to focus on the more pleasant ones before the two were enlisted into the Highland Light Infantry. Sunset while fishing in the River Ness, racing fiercely across the tundra of the Cairngorms only to huddle together for warmth in the bitter winter nights. The years of war had taken their toll, yes, but Craig’s fortitude had never waned, even when Duncan’s was beginning to crumble. The thought of now having to face this burden alone twisted in Duncan’s stomach far worse than any bayonet. He wanted to scream, loud enough for all of France to hear, but all he could manage was a hollow gasp starved of air.
‘Lads. Look lively.’ came Ben’s orders as those that could stand leapt to their feet. ‘The Germans … they’re coming back!’ A few puzzled glances were exchanged as men rallied their rifles once more in disarray, sharply aiming in one direction only to quickly shift to another upon hearing the slightest sound. The whistle of a shell 5grew stronger before exploding metres away from the seized trench, scattering more charred soil and mud. Another followed, some men cowering for cover, others now rearing to charge.
Ben bellowed an order to advance upon witnessing a line of German infantry march across the wastelands – several obeyed, many could not, opting to crouch and shoot from their positions in the vain hope they would hit a target. The German advance was not hindered. Ben’s body froze, his battalion being mowed down like wheat in a field before his very eyes. His hands clasped around his officer’s pistol, but couldn’t summon the courage or indeed the strength to even lift it in defiance of blazing German faces aflame with retribution. If there was to be any dignity on this day, it would come from his pistol aimed firmly under his chin, and his own finger on the trigger. Without a sound, Duncan had climbed out of the trench and began walking slowly towards the affray.
Ben was quick to note Duncan’s rifle had been left behind, prompting a conclusion of complete capitulation from the young soldier – not uncommon, he thought, as the madness of bloodshed mixed with uncontrollable grief had been enough to drive the most steadfast man to despair. But something was wrong, or perhaps not wrong … but different.
Duncan walked with his fists clenched, head up, focus forward. His actions had already brought an uneasy pause from his fellow soldiers as they continued to bury themselves within the earth amid the enemy advance. A few Germans had slowed in confusion, some consulting amongst themselves as to the motives of Duncan’s manoeuvre. Was it a surrender? A plea for a coup de grace? It was only when he raised his right fist in blue light that the German firing began once more, a few volleys only at first, but when these failed to penetrate, the rate increased. Sparks of white and blue lit up around Duncan, absorbing each bullet, as he seemed to stand behind an impenetrable shield.
Amidst the bewilderment, Ben called his troops back to the safety of the Frankfort trench, some picked off on retreat but most spared as the German efforts concentrated on the lone Duncan. A 6well-positioned mortar shell landed inches to his side, enough to unbalance him and bring him to one knee, blood running from his calf. Ben wanted to respond with fire of his own, to stand with the apparent sacrifice, but a firm look back from Duncan behind gave a contrary message. Ben withdrew, urging all to do the same and scatter through the lost ground, only hours earlier taken in victory. He turned and ran just as the rattle of German machine guns began to spit in Duncan’s direction – more sparks of white and blue engulfing the isolated soldier.
He turned back one more time as a defiant cry of insubordination came from Duncan, just as another mortar shell coasted through the ashen skies, this time finding its mark.
CHAPTER 2
Bath, England
27th January 2012 AD
Karen gave three firm thumps of her fist against the solid wooden door of the Allen family home, but got no answer. She tried again, this time using the brass door knock in the shape of a faded lion’s head, soon realising it to be even less effective. She glanced up at the three-storey terraced Georgian House, all windows closed. She peered down beneath the steps to the basement hoping to see the soft glow of a bulb, but still nothing.
The chill in the air had her tuck her hands under her arms and curse to the wind over Richard’s recent absence. The last time she or William had seen him or his sons was New Year’s, when Nick kindly hosted all at The Bear. Richard seemed absent then even when physically present – enough to cause concern within the group. A few failed phone calls prompted William to send Karen round just to check in, if only to get rid of the endless boxes of mince pies they had failed to consume over the post-festive weeks.
‘I think he’s out dear.’ came the sharp and prim voice of his neighbour Mrs Stepson, her limp forcing her to take her own steps to her front door one at a time. She leaned her hunched frame against the iron railings as she dipped her long, crooked fingers into her bag 8searching for her house keys. ‘Been out for several days now,’ she continued, wiping a dripping nose on her worn tartan coat. ‘Does come back in the evenings with the two boys…the tall one and the short one.’ Karen paused to process whether she was referring to Adam and Luke, not quite able to make sense of the height variance until Mrs Stepson went on to flatter the charm of the Irishman and his cheeky grin. Iain appeared to be making himself at home with Richard and Adam – no sign of Luke though.
‘Do you have any idea where they might have gone?’ Karen asked.
‘Really don’t know dear, you know what he’s like. Home for days then away for days.’ Mrs Stepson shrugged.
OK. Thank you anyway,’ Karen replied, making her way down the steps.
‘Oh. You know Mavis from across the road?’ Mrs Stepson gestured with her umbrella. ‘I recall she saw Richard just last week up at Prior Park. She loves to go up there and spend time painting, even on stark winter days like today. Not sure if that helps dear?’
Karen tried to think while Mrs Stepson continued to ramble dismissively about Mavis’s watercolours and the state of Richard’s orchard in the back garden. Prior Park was the ancestral home of the Allen Family, dating back to Ralph Allen himself, and built with the hands of John Wood the Elder, bloodline of William. The families had been near inseparable ever since. Karen interrupted Mrs Stepson’s monologue with a kind thank you as she stepped back into the car.
The beige gravel drive meandered its way up to the now converted Catholic College, its summit offering picturesque views of its carefully landscaped gardens and the pale stone of Bath City in the distance. Karen pulled up at the entrance – ‘a good time to take advantage of the place during the longer academic break’ she thought, while scanning down the green towards the ornate Palladian Bridge. A smile crept across her face whenever she spotted hints of 9Arthurian legacy, well into the eighteenth century. She remembered the bridge being Richard and William’s favourite place to meet and contemplate when young, but no sign of him, nor indeed of Adam and Iain.
A thud came from a nearby open window, followed quickly by a groan of pain. Karen swiftly pulled at the main door and hurried towards the open doors of the sports hall. Red crash mats covered the usual wooden boards of the multi-functional space, with Adam and Iain both dressed in knee-length shorts and loose-fitting vests, standing in the centre, both perspiring slightly, Adam rubbing his neck while regaining breath.
‘Again,’ came Richard’s voice from Karen’s side, his arms folded and one foot flat to the wall, a hint of exasperation in the tone. Iain tapped Adam on the shoulder as if pressing a reset button before the two raised fingerless gloved fists ready for combat. Neither bothered to even acknowledge Karen before engaging in quick jabs and low kicks.
‘Richard. Is this where you’ve been these past few weeks?’ Karen accused. Richard gave a gentle nod before ordering Adam to keep his guard up.
‘What is this? Some Sacred Band fight club you’ve set up?’ she quizzed in disbelief.
‘Just training. You and I were no different, if you recall,’ Richard rebuffed while shouting another instruction.
‘You could have at least given your son a break after all that’s happened.’ Karen murmured with concern.
‘Afraid we don’t have time for that, Karen. I’m sure you understand, as does William.’
Iain had left his leg exposed long enough for Adam to sweep it clean from under him, bringing his larger, muscular body to the floor. Adam pinned both arms quickly under each foot then landed a half-hearted punch to Iain’s chest. Karen winced as much as Iain did. ‘Good. That’s one apiece,’ clapped Richard. Adam offered his hand to Iain with good intentions, only to have it slapped away by his now irascible opponent. 10
‘Has Gary checked in on you?’ Karen asked.
‘A little. Not much to report.’ Richard replied.
‘Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?’ Karen pressed. ‘The White Dragon must have the Palladium by now, yet we’ve heard or seen nothing. And as for locating Mack, I know Gary has been searching tirelessly through all his last known contacts – still nothing.’
Richard scratched the stubble of his beard, he looked tired and heavy to Karen, as if his mind had had little chance to switch off since the incident with Mary Cassidy at Tintagel. Karen eased her line of questioning on the subject.
‘How’s Luke?’ she asked.
‘Not bad,’ Richard gruffed in response, while looking towards the floor.
‘Can’t have been easy for him. I heard from Nick that Violet has continued to keep him company. I think she’s quite taken with him,’ Karen softly joked, prompting an incredulous eyebrow from Richard.
Adam hit the mats again once an elbow from Iain caught his groin. He shut out the pain while rolling away and blocking Iain’s heel coming down hard – again, Iain’s leg exposed and swept. Adam struggled to pin Iain down for a second time, instead himself being twisted onto his back, wrists slammed down above his head by Iain’s superior strength. ‘Come on lad … you’re stronger than that.’ Iain teased, bringing his nose within inches of Adam’s as Adam strained. A gloat Iain came to regret, when Adam’s head butted his nose hard, without holding back, causing eyes to water. Adam slid a knee from under him and levered Iain off, quickly about to reaffirm his pin position atop him before Iain raised one hand in submission, his other still clamped over his nose. He muffled his objection to Adam’s behaviour as Richard intervened.
‘Alright, you two. That’s enough for now.’ Richard ordered.
‘Jeez! Your son’s a real son of …’ Iain spat, still shaking stars from his eyes before judging Richard’s expression. Adam offered his hand again in conciliation, this time accepted, hauling Iain to his feet. The two acknowledged their efforts in playful embrace. Karen just shook her head in disbelief. 11
‘So, the plan is Richard gets the two of you to kill each other before Lady Morgan or any of the White Dragon do? Is that the plan?’ she tutted.
‘Nah, it’s only training lass. I’ve taken harder hits than that,’ Iain chirped in response.
‘Me too.’ Adam immediately followed in defence, managing a slight grin of his own.
‘Both of you are holding back.’ Richard intervened. Adam and Iain both looked at him with disdain.
‘And how do you figure that like?’ Iain quipped, hands on hips. Richard turned to a backpack on the floor and unzipped it, removing two broadswords. He whimsically swung one in neat, slashing motions before offering the grip to Iain.
‘The Greeks used to train as you two have done – only much earlier of course. Spartans were known to do it best, called it the agoge. It meant …’
‘Rearing.’ Adam interrupted, taking the second broadsword. ‘And the Sacred Band defeated the Spartans at Leuctra. So much for all that Thermopylae three-hundred nonsense.’
‘Indeed. But I doubt there would have been a Thebes if it hadn’t been for Thermopylae … and there were more than just three hundred Spartans present, as you well know, Adam,’ Richard retorted. ‘Do you know why the Sacred Band defeated the Spartans over a hundred years later?’ Iain and Adam drew blanks.
‘It wasn’t because they were better, it was because they had something to lose.’ Richard continued. ‘I’d like to quote Plato, but I’m sure my son here would beat me to the ending.’ Adam screwed up his lips at losing such an opportunity.
‘So, let’s end today with a Theban tradition of sword duel, in close combat. First blood wins.’ Iain inspected his weapon, running his palm across the edge of the blade.
‘Mr Allen, mate. These are sharp.’ he noted.
‘As I said. First blood wins,’ Richard confirmed while walking back towards an open-mouthed Karen. 12
‘Richard! What the …? You can’t be serious? You saw how heated it got just now. Either one of them could …’
‘They won’t.’ Richard confidently cut off. ‘They’ll want to … but they won’t.’ Karen made her unease known, keeping her staff close by her side ready to intervene.
Iain and Adam circled one another for a few seconds, alternating sudden steps forward before dropping back to a safe distance. Adam made the first lunge, side-stepped by Iain, and retaliated with a swing of his own, blocked firmly by Adam’s blade. Iain swung again, forcing Adam to twist backwards, allowing the sword to pass overhead before turning and springing forward with a thrust that just missed Iain’s back. Karen edged forward, only to be held back by Richard.
Iain’s face grew meaner, a quick two-stroke cut only a hair’s breadth away from Adam’s torso forced a defensive swipe, joining the two swords and bringing the duo together, both gritting teeth as they strained for dominance. The piercing screech of the slipping blades brought more tension to Karen, Richard still remaining impassive. A sudden kick from Iain broke the impasse, followed by a gutsy bellow as he hammered down another strike – enough to break Adam’s sword.
Karen shook herself, startled. Richard for the first time stood upright from the wall as Adam immediately summoned his blue shield in deflection of yet more relentless attacks from Iain. He committed his knee to the ground, still maintaining his conjured defence against an enraged Iain, while sparks flew in all directions.
‘Richard, enough.’ Karen pleaded. ‘He’s going to kill him.’
Richard drew breath and began to raise his hands to deflect Iain’s wrath when a cry came from his son. A piercing blue flame shot from his right hand, grazing Iain’s shoulder and causing him to stumble back. Adam stood tall once again, armed both with long, flaming spear and shimmering blue shield, his breathing composed.
Iain responded, summoning a spear of his own and hurling it in Adam’s direction, but the shield did its job. Adam returned fire, the spear shattering a mirror behind Iain as he swerved to avoid. Adam 13threw again, Iain rolled as more blue sparks and glass flew off the walls.
‘Richard!’ Karen shouted, grasping his arm.
Iain conjured up his own spear once more and hurled his whole bodyweight towards Adam, his smaller opponent thrown to the mats, his shield sparking. Another spear Adam brought to his hand, a bolt of blue in desperation as Iain went to plunge his through Adam’s chest, and this time it was Iain’s shield, held at arm’s length, that blocked the move. Iain leaned down with all he could on Adam, his shield fizzing and crackling against the tip of his rival’s spear. The war of attrition was rapidly becoming a stalemate, neither opponent prepared to give. As the two yelled at one another in frustration, Richard finally boomed – ‘Enough.’
At first, neither Adam nor Iain would accept the judgement, their eyes fixed on each other, cast in glowing blue, saliva welling through their teeth.
‘Adam, Iain.’ Richard spoke again in a more measured tone. ‘You can stop now.’
The fury began to ebb away from both, the flames evaporating harmlessly. Adam gave out a deep sigh of exhaustion, falling flat on his back as Iain collapsed by his side. The two breathed heavily, drained physically and emotionally. Karen looked on attentively as Richard knelt down beside them both – Iain with his arm draped over Adam, both sobbing quietly.
‘Now you begin to understand.’
CHAPTER 3
London, England
27th January 2012 AD
The morning sun crested through the cool glass peaks of
