Attack by a Vagabond Army

Sheriff Marc had stubbed his toe on a wayward lance protruding out from a dead man's chest.

He cursed audibly and then returned to his employ, examining the coffers brought forward by the taxationers of the county. They were showing to be more than ample and his garnishing would be prosperous this season.

His two cases were identical black leathered chests - save that one bore the King's crest, and the other, mysteriously, had nothing ascribed to its owner.

The next day the outward-bound coach sent to convey the monies was found abandoned at the side of a stream. The driver had maintained that he and his company were besieged by a vagabond army that had leapt out from the forest, released their horses, and taken the caskets fast away.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

The Vision of an Ancient King

When the sweet delirium had intercepted the spaces of his mind, a vision of an ancient king had come to visit at his bedside. This King was not his father, nor a royal ancestor, but rather the King of all men.

He looked up with amazement.

There were two Knights in accompaniment, whose armours glammed with light; their countenance was young - neither male nor female, yet symmetrical and quite beautiful.

The great King appeared to glow as an aura of gold fell about the room streaming from Him.

Richard spoke feebly, "I have failed Thee. I now consent to death with the achievements vouchsafed to you and to the common good ... yet how can I now die, knowing that the evil still remains?"

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

The Arrow of Stag Horn

Richard turned his head from the spoon - feeding was no use anymore for his body, which now spoke to him with the tremors, saying that it was nigh time to give up.

These powers of sorcery had proved too strong against his fevered flesh. The dark prince had stuck him with an arrow; that prick had drained his life fast from him.

Regardless of distance in exile, his brother's demon had overcast that bow. More curious still, the arrow that had wedged inside his shoulder had been crafted from carved stag horn, and not metal.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

The Fairy Child

Marley had so many questions and trepidations about what it would mean to give birth to a fairy child.

What if her baby was too fragile for this world? Would her milk be enough? Would the infant behave as mortal children do?

She had over a hundred such questions - and for each one of them a happy finding to come.

Now finally in the world, her little Charlene was doing just fine. In every respect the child appeared to be human, save for her exceptional contentedness. She never cried.

Marley became very used to her small companion - which made it all the more terrible when she was taken from her.

Barely eight months old, there came a day that had been chilly and Marley had gone to secure the windows downstairs before the rains came. When she returned to the cot, she had found it empty.

"No!" Marley screamed. She was in a panic, tossing the blankets in frantic disarray, she searched the floor beneath, and then ran to the front door to find it hanging wide open.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

Bones Clattering Musically in the Wind

What would have been but half a day's journey on horseback was a three-day expedition for Robin and the Friar traveling the roads on foot.

Robin walked a mortal's pace, stopping at intercessions for Tooke to catch breath and pray, relieve himself, feed and sleep.

On the third day they stood beneath their eleven dear friends, aligned on the scaffolding, whose bones were now clattering musically in the wind. In just a handful of days the birds had picked the flesh away, discarding those parts less savory.

"They never made it home", Tooke said, before breaking into a weeping.

Robin had seen so many men come and go into death, he was well used to moribund endings; however, even this lit an anger in his soul. Men of the faith were never soldiers and had no chance ever of defending themselves. Ranked as soft as a woman and innocent as a child, this homicide was an explicit defiance to all things Godly. Whether robed or not, these were holy men, whose only treason was to tend to the wounded, albeit the enemy.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

King John & Sheriff Marc

King John and Sheriff Marc shared an unnatural love together, for they despised each other's presence, yet continually appeased the other's vanity with great pleasure.

Neither would have thought twice before baring their sword from its leathery sheath; pushing hard with will and want, and a cruel gamefulness.

Both assumed superiority over the other.

The commoners hated them with equal distaste, and this manufactured a conspiratorial bond between them.

John's beard was twisted, and like a Saracen it would reach down to his waist when unwound. His back was scarred from flagellation; half of his finger nails were missing, torn by himself (at the Sheriff’s request); his girth had widened, and his veins bulged like purple grapes.

John's temperament was flaccid until aroused by some sport of cruelty. Whereas Marc's mood was permanent - an acrid disposition with a bitter tongue.

Retiring at night, both lay on their beds of black goose down - full fast asleep - yet without rest or dream.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Baby Charlene

Meeting baby Charlene was the best day of her ragged life ... everything else dissolved its importance and mother and baby were content eating and sleeping together; getting stronger by the day.

As the weeks progressed and the weather warmed, Marley would take Charlene in her pram out to the park to the seat on the hill.

She avoided walking too close to the gardener's shed, but would sit on the seat overlooking the suburb below.

Puck had engraved their three names at the back in the wood there, which made her smile to see this every time.

They had enough money to get by and Marley was so enthralled with her small child, she rarely, if ever, thought of anything else in the world - or outside of it.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series