The winter air was bitter cold, as snow fell and covered the land in an icy blanket. The French countryside was taking on an ethereal twinkling as the deep snow reflected the light of the full moon which hovered overhead. The trees were leafless, and covered with snow. Despite the beauty of the landscape, they gave off a sense of foreboding… almost as though death itself waited behind the wall of the trees which marked the forest border.
A soft crunching sound was heard as a rider on horse back traveled down a well-ridden road that was now covered with snow and thin layers of ice where standing water had been. The horse was covered in steel plate armor, as was the rider. The horse's flanks were decoarted with cloth of pure white with a bright red cross in the center, the symbol of the Christian religion. The cloth matched the surcoat wore by the rider, which was pure white and emblazoned with the red Christian cross. At the rider's side hung a steel broadsword in its black scabbard. His polished steel helmet gleamed in the moonlight, his eyes barely showing behind the tiny eye slits. On his back he wore a thick cape to keep him warm in this bitterly cold weather.
That is, bitterly cold for October. It was nigh on All Hallow's Eve, the day before the Christians would celebrate their great feast of All Saints, and normally the weather here in France was cool but warm enough that one could go outside without having to bundle up for such biting cold. Something strange was going on, and no one knew what it was, except of course, for this knight.
He stopped when he reached the border of the forest. He took the helmet off of his head, revealing his canine visage. The fur around his muzzle was scruffy, giving the appearance of a beard. The grey fur that covered him was scraggly and disheveld as a result of many days of travel through the French countryside. His eyes, a deep brown like freshly brewed coffee (although such a thing was unknown in the time this knight was living) stared straight ahead into the dark forest. He could feel the cold feeling of dread washing over him, as though the entire forest reeked of death and the icy, cold chill of deepest fear itself. The knight crossed himself and kissed the small wooden crucifix, blessed by Pope Honorius IV himself before the brave knight set out on his mission. He silently began to pray for his safety and success.
"Lord Jesus Christ, my Savior and Redeemer, by the prayers of Michael the Archangel and all Your soldier saints, make my own hand become Yours, that I may defend the weak and helpless, and drive the oppressor and the evil into oblivion. Guide my sword in battle, and help me to uphold what is right and just. In Your name, hear my prayer. Amen." He said, saying his own personal prayer before he dismounted from his horse. He brought the horse over to a nearby fence and tied his reins to it.
"These woods are no place for a horse, not even one so brave as you." He said to the animal. "I will return." He said, stroking the animal before turning toward the woods, and entering their dark depths.
---
Death and evil. That's what he sensed as he made his way down the forest path. The moonlight was barely penetrating the cursed blackness around him, and he could barely see his own armored hand in front of his face. But he pressed on, hand gripped tightly on the grip of his sword, his lips reciting from memory the one-hundred and forty-third Psalm.
"David benedictus Dominus fortis meus qui docet manus meas ad proelium digitos meos ad bellum." He said, which in English read "Blessed be the Lord my God, who teacheth my hands to fight, and my fingers to war". He kept reciting this Psalm of David as he crunched through the icy snow which coated the path. The icy chill of evil permeated the air, and surrounding him like a fog. His heart told him that he would need aid if he were to conquer this evil. He reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a small book, bound in leather and filled with illiminated pages, depicted a series of musical notes of the type invented by the Italian Guido d'Arezzo many centuries before. He turned the pages of the book until he found what he was looking for, and then took out a silver horn from behind his cloak. The horn gleamed in the soft moonlight that made its way through the forest canopy, and was etched with images of angel wings on the end, and with Latin phrases saying "GOD WILLS IT" and "FOR THE GLORY OF GOD".
The knight but the horn to his lips and, using the book as a reference, blew a sharp tune on the horn three times. He then stood still in the spot, waiting, ignoring the cold air and the sense of death and evil pervading the air. Shortly, he began to hear a noise, like something was charging through the brush. He turned to face the direction of the brush, just as a huge form came crashing out of it.
A large creature, nearly seven feet tall, came bursting out of the brush and straight at the knight, and for a moment one would think that the knight would be attacked. But before the creature reached the knight, he slowed down and came to a complete stop so that he could face the knight. It was then that the creature's wolf like head and human like body became apparent. His large frame was covered with thick, gray fur. His ears stuck straight up and and were set high on his head. His eyes were piercing blue and seemed to stare straight into the knight's soul. As the knight stood, the wolf creature bowed down, as though a squire showing respect to the knight he served. The knight was not fazed.
"You summoned me, my lord?" The wolf creature asked, in perfect English. Again, the knight was not fazed.
"Do you sense something here, my friend?" The knight asked. The wolf creature sniffed around, allowing his powerful sense of smell to take stock of the forest they found themselves in.
"This place reeks of death." He said. "And blood." He said. The knight nodded.
"The bastard of Narbonne is preparing his foul rituals." He said. "We must move quickly. Find me the best way into his keep."
"As you command, my lord." The wolf creature said, taking off into the woods. He was soon out of sight. The knight kept going, crunching his way through the snow. He kept his sword gripped in his hand the whole time. This posture would serve him well, as he soon ran into a group of soldiers camped along the road. These were mercenary soldiers, Flemings judging by their language, men who sold their services to the highest bidder. The soldiers were singing a very lively tune, one which the knight had heard before while on crusade.
"Ale makes a man slumber by the fire," they sang, "ale makes a man wallow in mire." The tune was catchy, and the men were drinking merrily while singing it. The knight took a look at them. Their surcoats bore the emblem and colors of the mysterious gentlemen that had recently made his home in the castle along the road, Comte Arsis de Narbonne. He brought with him a cloud of evil that nearly everyone in the region could sense. It was rumored that de Narbonne had made a pact with the devil himself, and practiced dark magic and bloody occult rituals.
The knight figured they were too drunk to notice him, and tried to walk past them in the shadows, but the bright white surcoat attracted their attention. One of them called to the others and leapt up. They all drew their swords and moved to block his path.
"Nowhere to run, Templar." The apparent leader said. The knight drew his own sword.
"Stand aside, brothers. I have no quarrel with you." He said, firmly and authoritatively. The soldiers just laughed and, with a loud battlecry, charged. The knight calmly raised his own weapon. The first soldier to reach him was easily cut down. The next managed to swing at him, but the knight easily parried and kicked him away, driving his sword into the belly of another soldier, cutting down another as he raised his weapon, before finishing off the last one with a sword blow to the neck. He silently prayed for forgiveness for having to kill the men, and then wiped the blood from his sword before placing it back in its scabbard.
"May they rest in peace." He prayed, before continuing on his way.
---
The sense of evil only got worse, when he finally reached the castle. The stone was jet black, and the windows glowed a bright orange. The contrasting colors gave it the appearance of a fortress in hell itself, and if it was true what the rumors said about de Narbonne, it might as well have been. The knight ignored the sense of dread that was rising up within him, and carefully examined the situation before him.
He could see several soldiers manning the battlements of the castle, armed with wicked looking barbed spears and, presumably, bows and arrows. More soldiers guarded the drawbridge outside the castle, armed with the same wicked looking spears, along with swords. All of them wore black leather armor and bore surcoats with de Narbonne's emblem and colors. The eyes of the soldiers were watching the forest and the path, looking for anyone trying to attack the castle and ready to give any needed warning. The knight's careful eye also caught something else; he noticed, in the glint of the moonlight, camouflaged wooden devices scattered all around the moat and grounds… devices for triggering booby traps.
It would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to get into the castle unscathed, at least by the front way. If the traps didn't get him, the soldiers would, as even his skills weren't enough for an entire army. Unless there was a way to get in from the back…
A cracking sound indicated that his wolf friend was approaching. The creature bowed to him.
"What did you find?" The knight asked.
"There are many traps scattered about." The wolf creature said. "But I did see some people entering the castle through a secret door that went down into a cavern." The knight smiled. A way in had been found.
"Show me." He said. The wolf creature led him down a hidden, overgrown forest path that went around the castle and led straight to the rear. The wolf creature began sniffing around, looking for the scent of the men he had spotted. He kept searching until he found it, and uncovered a secret door. "Good work, my friend." The knight said. "Wait here." He said.
"My Lord, should I accompany thee?" The wolf creature asked. The knight shook his head.
"Wait for me here, and tarry not if you hear the call." He said. "But, until then, I must face this beast alone." The wolf creature bowed, and the knight descended into the tunnel, to whatever fate awaited him.
---
The tunnel stank of mold, and the walls were slimy with algae and God only knew what horrid sludge. The knight slipped in places on the slimy floor of the tunnel, and he made his way via dim torchlight. He grunted each time he did, trying to stop himself from falling. It was obvious this place had once been under water.
"I would have thought a Lord would have a better sense of cleanliness." The knight said, even if he worships the devil." He groaned as he slipped once more and nearly fell to the floor, but he recovered in time to find a drier part of the underground tunnel. He rushed down the tunnel and found a flight of stairs leading up. He smiled.
---
The knight entered a large chamber, light by the light of many torches and candles. It was obvious that he had entered into the chapel of the castle, although one wouldn't have been able to tell from the desecration that abounded the once holy space. The beautiful religious stained glass had been removed and replaced with glass bearing all sorts of odious occultic symbols. The statues and religious artwork were gone; in place of the crucifix and statues bearing the owners patron saint and the Blessed Virgin, there now stood blasphemous, demonic images bearing devilish figures and arcane imagery. Most horribly, where a religious icon might have been, there was now a painting of a leering, monstrous devil with great wings and glowing eyes of the fiercest red. The horrendous desecration and blasphemy made the knight physically ill, but he kept going.
He soon heard a sound coming from the nave of the chapel; a chanting sound. He went forward, staying out of sight, to see what it was. He saw a man standing in front of a High Altar desecrated with occultic and devilish symbols. The man was wearing a hooded robe covered likewise with occultic symbols, and was standing in front of a black stone altar, upon which rested what appeared to be a human figure. The knight waited until the man bowed and cold not see him, and then crept across the way and climbed up into the pulpit of the chapel. He couldn't believe what he saw.
It was a human figure alright; a woman, her wolf visage bearing an expression of pure horror, but a cloth gag rendering her unable to cry out for help: the daughter of Charles de Valois, the Count of Anjou, Marie de Valois. She had been set to wed the son of the King of Naples, but had disappeared from the Valois manor in Orléans recently. Now here she was… about to become a human sacrifice to whatever devilish beast de Narbonne worshiped.
The knight steeled himself and left the pulpit. He could hear the blasphemous prayers being uttered by Arsis, chanted in Latin, the sacrosanct tongue of the Church now being used in foul worship of the devilish monsters. The knight approached the horrendous scene and drew his sword, the characteristic "zing" catching the attention of the fallen Comte. The knight held the blade in front of him in a battle-ready pose.
"Forgive me for interrupting." The knight said sarcastically. The wicked lord, his feline eyes blazing with some unholy fire, smiled wickedly.
"Do my eyes deceive me, or is this the valiant Sir Robert Mallory standing before me." He said. "Pray tell, why would the French request an Englishman to take care of their business?"
"Pray tell me, why would a once proud and noble man like yourself commit yourself to such heathen rites?" The knight, revealed to be Sir Mallory, asked. "It surly cannot be the décor." He jested, pointing to the hideous images around them. "Tell me, has the devil turned up yet, or is he off deceiving someone else?
"Your jesting is most misplaced." De Narbonne said. "I am a liberated man, and you, knight of the Temple, are but an empty puppet of the Church." He cackled evilly. "A mere marionette on a string, dancing for his papal masters!" He said. The knight kept his passions in check, saying a silent prayer for the insults directed toward Christ's Church.
"What is liberation if it costs you your soul?" Sir Mallory said. "You are in luck, though. The order has asked me to take you to them alive, so that we might find a way to free you from the devil's control. Repent of this idolatrous blasphemy, good sir, a restore your soul." De Narbonne laughed, a shrill cackled that sent shivers up the knight's spine.
"What is salvation if it makes me weak?" He asked. "My master has given me power beyond anything you can comprehend. Why not join me? I can give you whatever your heart desires if you will only acknowledge my power." He said. The knight's expression fell.
"Your temptations fall on deaf ears." Sir Mallory said. "I now find it small wonder that the good Lady de Valois rejected you for Charles." That did it; de Narbonne snarled in rage.
"I don't take kindly to insults from an English pig." He said. With a roar, he formed a fireball from demonic power in his hand and hurled it at the knight. He just barely managed to dodge it. The wicked lord flung two more at him, setting the pews of the chapel on fire, but not hitting Sir Mallory. The wicked lord chanted some arcane words, and objects began to hover over them. Mallory braced himself as torches, candles and other items flew toward him. He deftly blocked them with his sword before charging de Narbonne and landing a kick to his stomach which sent him to the ground. Another kick made him retch and double up in pain. He soon found the steel of Mallory's sword pressed against his neck.
"It is over, my Lord." He said. "I will give you one last chance. Repent and abandon your malicious ways, and you will be give mercy." He said.
"Do not presume so much." De Narbonne said. He thrust his hands out and struck the knight with bolts of hellish lightning, which sent the knight flying hard into a stone pillar. The wicked lord shocked him again. Mallory screamed in pain before collapsing to the ground. De Narbonne stood up. He began to whispered horrid arcane words, and the High Altar appeared to split and open in to a hellish portal formed by sickening fleshly material, pulsing as though alive.
"And now you shall face your fate, valiant knight of the Temple!" He said. Mallory felt himself being drawn toward the portal. He tried to hold on to the pillar, but his strength was sapped and he was dragged toward the portal. "Enjoy your own personal hell!" He laughed evilly as the knight was dragged further. His body was wracked with weakness and pain, but a fresh surge of determination and a prayer for further strength, he summoned what little he had left and took the horn from his belt.
"What is that?" De Narbonne asked. "A horn? How pathetic." He said with another evil cackle. Mallory just placed the horn to his lips and blew a tune. Lady Marie looked up at them.
"And so it ends." De Narbonne said. "Farewell, Templar." He said. Sir Mallory kept inching closer and closer to the portal, and it did seem as though it would be his end, until…
"What in the name of AAAAH!" De Narbonne screamed. Mallory felt himself being lifted up and the draw of the portal gone. He also heard de Narbonne struggling as he was let down. He turned to see the evil lord grasped by fleshy extensions of the portal, being dragged down into a fiery pit. He huffed as he struggled.
"As you rise, so shall you fall." Mallory said.
"Rot in hell, you son of an English sow!" He roared. "This is not the last of me. I shall return, and I will be more powerful than any man alive, and not even your precious order will stop me!"
"I don't know what power the devil has given you, but rest assured your evil will never thrive." Mallory said. "So long as your black arts survive, so shall my friend here and all his cohorts. You will never rise again, to that I swear." De Narbonne roared as he was dragged down into the flames.
"Death, is only the beginning." He said, as he was swallowed by flames. Then, they were knocked to the ground by a forceful blast as the portal closed.
"Ugh!" Mallory huffed as he hit the ground. He got up in time to see the Lady had fainted. He immediately scooped her up after recovering his sword. "Come, we must leave." He said to his companion, as wicked shrieks began to fill the air. They could see shapes in the sky through the windows.
"Yes my Lord." The wolf creature said, as they fled the chapel. As they did, Mallory could swear he heard a voice.
"Death… is only the beginning."
---
Seven years after his incredible rescue and defeat of Arsis de Narbonne, Sir Thomas Mallory was forced to watch his fellow Templars rounded up on false charges of heresy due to the intervention of the unscrupulous King of France, Phillip IV. Pope Clement V, realizing his grave mistake in suppressing the order and Mallory's status as a great hero of Christendom due to his bravery during the Crusades, quietly dispensed Mallory of his vows as a Knight of the Temple and secretly sent him back home to England. Landless and destitute, he lived for a short time in the chapter of house of the Hospitallers in London before King Edward III granted him land in Ireland, and funds to build himself a modest manor house. He served in Edward's campaigns in Scotland for a short while before retiring from war permanently, marrying a beautiful Irish maiden named Margaret. He lived the rest of his days as a quiet country gentleman, raising his children and making a name for himself as a patron of the Irish churches and monasteries. He died in 1341, a well respected man who's true legacy is only now being discovered by his descendants.
