The Betrayal of Father Tuck: An Outlaw Chronicles short story Read Online Free PDF Page B

relentlessly skewering, puncturing, maiming and slaying.
    Then Murdac’s fourth company, the reserve that had formed separately and well to the north, sixty fresh and eager men, charged.
    ‘Archers hold fast! Hold fast!’ Tuck’s bull bellow could easily be heard above the screams of the battle and the crash of steel. ‘Archers, about face! About face, I say!’ The priest was physically grabbing the big brawny men and turning them from the battle before the gate towards the new threat. The fourth company was running at full pelt towards the walls, only fifty yards away.
    ‘Everybody have shafts? Right. Draw! And loose!’ At Tuck’s command twenty battle-maddened bowmen, now with their broad backs to the main gate, hauled back their bowcords and unleashed a shower of death into the charging company.
    ‘Kill them all, kill every one,’ yelled Tuck. ‘I don’t want a man to touch the wall.’
    The fourth company died as it ran. The lethal ash shafts slammed into their mass, again and again, slicing through mail and cloth and skin, puncturing soft flesh, tumbling brave men and cowards alike, killing some instantly and crippling others. Of a company of sixty, only a single ladder and a dozen men made it all the way to the wall. The ladder rose – unopposed – and a lone man-at-arms, a hero or a madman, climbed like a monkey and hopped nimbly over the battlements. His friends, finding themselves alone, held back.
    Tuck made a clicking noise in his throat and two monstrous reddish-grey forms bounded along the walkway and leapt at the surprised enemy soldier now standing alone, forlorn, just inside the citadel. He screamed just once before he was smashed flat on his back, with one growling wolfhound crunching the bones of his face and the other locking its massive jaws into his groin.
    He was the only man from Murdac’s entire force to set foot inside the castle, that day or any other. For the battle was over, the enemy broken and fleeing. Tuck looked over at the jubilant men surrounding Lord Edwinstowe, at the blood-drenched piles of writhing wounded and dead before the gates, at the dark, defeated men streaming away from the walls, blundering exhausted down the slope. And he smiled. He slapped Gwen on the shoulder and congratulated the other grinning archers, promising much wine and ale after supper. Then he pushed his way through the cheering throng and strode back along the walkway towards Lord Edwinstowe, who, by the slightly unnatural twisting of his thin lips, might be mistaken for a contented, even a deeply happy man.
    ‘Is all well with you, my lord?’
    ‘I believe it is, Father. I believe it is. I think we can hold these walls for weeks against whatever they may throw at us. We saw those scoundrels off easily, with no more than a cut or two and a few scrapes for our men. In the event, your Kirkton fellows showed themselves to be rather handy fighters. It was simple… It was as easy as…’
    ‘Child’s play, my lord?’ said Marie-Anne, emerging at the top of the stairs that led up from the courtyard. She looked out over the bloody ruin of the battlefield, her face grimly compassionate.
    ‘Yes, indeed, my lady,’ said Lord Edwinstowe, finally allowing himself a brief wintry smile. ‘It was, as you say, mere child’s play.’

The story continues in
King’s Man
The third instalment of The Outlaw Chronicles.

Turn over to read the first chapter now…

Chapter One
    I can hear the sound of singing floating across the courtyard from the big barn, thin and faint yet warmly comforting, like the last wisps of a happy dream to a man waking from deep slumber. I have left the remnants of the wedding party to their pleasures, leaving the bride Marie and her new husband Osric and dozens of their friends and neighbours to carouse long into the dark night. I have provided ale and wine, more than they could ever drink at half a dozen nuptials, and I slaughtered two of my sheep and a great sow, and all three