The sight of Logan's 'soldiers' lined before him was not a reassuring one, standing there atop the Archive's upper wall in their mismatches scraps of armors; iron for those who had the strength to bear it, leather for those who did not, and neither for the unlucky few that came after the supplies had run short. The swords of those who wielded them were so dull they might as well have been pointed clubs, and the shields Solaire had handed out were weak, wooden, things that would stop an arrow well enough, but if anything heavier fell atop their cracked surface, they looked ready to burst and splinter. The men with the skill to wield a bow seemed the lucky ones, but even they were facing a rather limited supply of arrows, and when those ran out, they'd be left only with their pitiful daggers to defend themselves.
These are not warriors, Solaire thought, forcing a smile to his face so his thoughts would not show. These are men too old to fight proper, and boys too young to know any better. And women... He turned on the left flank, where a group of four women stood in attention. They looked small, practically drowning in the big coats of leather armors around them, but their was at least an intensity in their eyes, a burning, and that was more than Solaire could say for some of the men. The knights and soldiers of the world had all vanished over the years, either gone hollow and joined up in Anor Londo, or killed in action, and this was what remained to defend the last people of Lordran; a smattering of elderly and teenagers and women, of whom Solaire was expected to train. Sun protect us in the coming days, he thought, stepping forth to address them. Or perhaps speed Logan's work so none need die at least.
Solaire cleared his throat. "Hello," he said, but the word sounded awkward, and not one of the four dozen gathered before him returned the greeting. He swallowed, collected himself, and went on anyway. "Many of you know me, some of you don't. I am Knight Solaire, Warrior of the Sun, captain of Logan's guard, and your instructor today."
A brief, unenthusiastic, clap came from the very back of the crowd. Solaire raised his head to peer over the heads of his trainees and found the Knight of Thorns, Kirk, leaning against the parapets there; his helmet removed and clutched at his side, a sardonic smirk on his face.
Solaire's face reddened, but he ignored the man and went on with his speech. "As you all know, the Duke's Archives are the last hold of humanity in Lordran, and as such it must be protected dearly should any harm wish to befall it. Our foes gather in the city of Anor Londo to the East. They are numerous and they are ferocious, but they lack what we have, and that is the guidance of Logan's brilliant mind, the castle walls themselves, and, of course, the sun watching over us. Praise it, my friends. Praise the Sun." He awaited for them to return to words, and when they did not, Kirk's taunting laughter filled the silence instead.
"It's bloody freezing up here," a voice complained, and when Solaire looked to its owner, he spotted Rickert of Vinheim, one of the few sorcerers that remained to the castle (most of them had gone mad either before or during the Great Cold). Rickert wrapped his arms to his body and frowned. "Can't we do this inside?"
Solaire gestured to the sun at his back, and though, admittedly, the chunk of pale, white, light behind the swirling twists of snow that ever-plagued the sky these days was not the bolstering presence it had once been, it was a presence nonetheless. "We stand beneath the mighty Sun, Rickert. Let its light be your blanket."
Rickert's youthful face did not look placated. He mimed draping an invisible blanket over his shoulders. "Oh, that's much better," he said dryly.
Solaire ignored the young man and turned to the wall behind him. He approached the parapets there, leaning out over them and pointing the way east. "Look here, my friends. I also wanted you all gathered here so that you could see the very real threat awaiting us, should we be unprepared to face it. Come. Join me." Slowly, they did. Solaire offered nods of gratitude as the crowd filled in around him, leaning out to peer down the maddening fall of the Archive's eastern wall. There, somewhat obscured by the heavy snowfall, the city of Anor Londo in all its glorious display of architecture awaited.
"I don't see anything," an old man with a few strands of grey hair left to his liver-spotted head muttered.
"To be fair, you don't see much of anything these days, Norm," Rickert said, grinning. "Hey - how many fingers am I holding up?"
"Piss off, boy."
Solaire cleared a dusting of snow free from the parapet beside him and narrowed his eyes onto the distant shapes of the city. It was true: the hollows could not be seen, but they were there. They could be spotted on occasion, moving in groups of half a dozen from building to building. Logan believed they were holed up in the Great Cathedral, but if they were, they had left the entrance clear. "There!" Solaire shouted, spotting movement. "Look, by the bridge leading to the cathedral!" The curious faces of the 'soldiers' followed his outstretched finger. The vague outline of two torch-bearing hollows could be made out amidst the snows, crossing the bridge in a rush.
"You sure we need an army for them two?" Rickert asked.
"Oh, stop it already," a woman scolded him, and Solaire craned his neck to see the priestess, Rhea, fixing the sorcerer with a dark look.
"Lady Rhea," Solaire greeted, smiling. "I didn't see you before." In truth, Solaire found it quite strange that both Rhea and Rickert were here at all. Rhea was a cleric, after all, and if war should come to the castle, she'd be well guarded, healing the wounded that fell back in retreat. Perhaps she seeks the peace of mind that she could defend herself, should it come to that, Solaire thought.
"Hello, Solaire," Rhea said, returning the smile.
"You know," Kirk's voice came from behind the crowd. "If you lot grouped up and tossed the old knight there over the side of the wall, you could all go back inside where its warm." He laughed.
"I'd sooner see you thrown over," Rhea muttered, and Rickert chortled beside her.
Solaire saw Kirk's look darken immediately. He pushed off the rear parapet and growled balefully, "What did you say to me?"
"Look! There's more!" A short man at the far end of the crowd with curly, blond, hair shouted. The crowd turned to follow his pointed finger, but Solaire held his gaze on Kirk. The big man in his dark armor squinted first at Rhea, then at Solaire himself before finally spitting to the snow-caked floor of the wall and disappearing back inside the guard tower.
"Where?" A rather stout woman at the knight's side questioned.
"There!" The blond man insisted, shaking his finger.
Solaire traced it down to the city, where the two torch-bearers from before had made their way down a narrow ledge that wrapped around the side of the Great Cathedral and were standing in wait for a second group of hollows to come and remove the barring from a gate blocking their path, increasing their numbers to seven. They were as small as insects from that far away and still foggy behind the wall of snowfall, but they were there. That much could not be denied. "You see?" Solaire said. "Our enemies hide in the buildings of the city, but they will not hide forever."
"How many are there, Solaire?" Henrik, who'd previously been his squire and now belonged to Petrus, asked.
"Many," Solaire answered.
"As in, he don't know," Rickert added.
"How could anyone know, Rickert," said Rhea. "We know there are a lot of them. Many of us here had seen them flocking to the city on our travels here to the Archives. Many more have lost dear friends or family in the vile creatures' warpath.
"Aye," a man said with a wistful nod of his head, and a muttering of somber agreement from the crowd followed.
"See," Rhea said. "We know how dangerous the things are. The Knight Solaire is a good man for taking his time to prepare us for such."
"Thank you, my lady," Solaire said a sincere bow of his head.
"But I also feel," Rhea went on, "that it is important to remember what it is we defend. We defend those we lost and those we may yet lose, not Logan."
Solaire frowned. "Well, certainly no one thinks that, my lady, but we must not forget it is Logan whom provided us with this castle and these means to defend ourselves from the cold and from the hollows. We all owe him a great deal of gratitude."
Some of the crowd muttered their agreement, other did not. Rhea was biting at her lip, twiddling the thumbs of her gloves against one another. "Well... I suppose that is true. As long as our loyalties lie to one another and not-"
"-and to Logan," Solaire finished, fixing the priestess with a bemused look. Why is she so insistent on discrediting him? She opened her mouth in what Solaire assumed was to be further protest, but Rickert took hold of her arm. The two exchanged an unreadable look at the end of which, Rhea pressed her lips tightly together and cast a dissatisfied look Solaire's way. "Anyway," Solaire went on, "We must be prepared to defend ourselves from this threat in the East. So join me, my friends. I know many of you trained briefly with Petrus, but I intend to run things a different way, and I hope you will afford me an open mind as well as an open heart. Let us begin. Praise the Sun."
And so they trained. Solaire had some experience in the field, though he was by no means an expert. He knew swordplay, though, as well as anyone, and soon enough he had even the most feeble-armed men swinging with correct form, and certainly well enough to slice through the soft, decaying, flesh of a hollow soldier should they need to. The crowd segregated rather quickly into groups to spar on their own once they'd had the basics laid out before them. The four leather-clad women stuck together. The older men with their greying hair and crows-feet eyes bunched up, casting surly looks on the younger men who'd grouped together across from them. Rhea and Rickert stuck together, watching the rest of them curiously instead of sparring themselves. They didn't interfere, so Solaire did not protest.
He walked quietly amidst the sparring soldiers, his hands folded behind him, his eyes keeping vigilant for anything he might be able to correct. The old timers had a good grasp of striking and blocking and feigning attack when necessary, though must of them had been farmers in their younger days, and Solaire only had to point out their flaws once or twice. The younger group of men needed the most aid. They were far too arrogant in their attacks on one another, and often times when one of them pursued a barrage of strikes, he wound up leaving himself open for an easy counter-jab to his unguarded stomach. Others struck too cautiously, too slowly, and any worthy fighter across from them would spot the attack coming, riposte and parry, and finish the fight before it had even began. Solaire told them as much, but with youth came hubris, and he'd spotted the men making the same mistakes not ten minutes after walking away from them. The women, to his surprise, were among the best fighters atop the wall. Many of them clearly carried a chip on their shoulder, perhaps because they'd received jeers from the men upon joining up, but they turned that anger to a ferocity, and when Solaire corrected them in their attack, they listened, fixed their problem, and adjusted.
A teenage boy with a fall of greasy brown hair that came to his elbows made the mistake of taunting one of the women. She was a short, stout, thing with a square jaw and a crop of black hair atop her wide brow. She crossed to the boy's group and challenged the taunter to a duel. The young man sneered, jested, laughed, and then was on the floor as quickly as Solaire had ever seen a man thrown down before. He had to cross to them and pull the woman free from her mounted position on the kid's waist, pummeling him with her bare hands. The other women cheered and applauded the woman as she returned to their group, and the boy clambered to his feet, his nose bloody and his left eye bruised, but his ego clearly housing the most severe injury.
"A good lesson," Solaire told him. "Never underestimate your opponent." He turned to the woman and bowed respectfully. "Well done, my lady."
"Ooo, the knight called you his lady, Winnie," one of her friends taunted, and the three of them laughed as the stout woman's face ran a deep red.
The sun moved from the low plains in the East to the jagged line of mountains in the far West, and by the time it started dipping beneath the horizon, casting its soft orange glow upon the wall and its combatants, Solaire was satisfied in his first day of training. The group huddled before him in the dying light didn't look nearly as crestfallen as they had in morning's light, and someday, the knight thought, they'd be a force worthy of fearing. Someday, he reminded himself, If the day should come when they need be a force. "Praise the Sun," he concluded the session with, bowing, and to his pleasant surprise, a few of them actually returned the words before shuffling into the guard tower to escape the cold winds that had come with nightfall.
He was among the last to depart, and upon entering the tower and facing the long climb of stairs to the Archive's lower levels, he spotted the lady Rhea staring intently at him within. Her face was lined with a stressful look, but when it seemed as if she were going to speak with the knight, Rickert was beside her, taking her waist in his arm and guiding her hurriedly down the stairs. What queer behavior from those two, Solaire thought, but by the time he'd returned to his quarters in the barracks, he'd forgotten all about them and had the first good night's rest he'd had in a long time.
It was on the third day of training atop the roof when Kirk came to him. The day had been going well, Solaire impressed with how quickly some of the men and women were taking to their swordplay, and he was readying to teach them how to bash a foe with their shields to buy a moment's respite when he spotted the tall man crossing the roof with a satisfied little smirk upon his ugly face.
"If you're here to taunt me..." Solaire began angrily.
"Nope, not today," Kirk said. "Here to bring you downstairs."
"I'm busy."
"It can wait. This is important."
Solaire frowned. "More important than training our defenses?"
"Yes. The girl requires your presence. Follow me," he said, turned, and sauntered off.
Abby? Solaire wondered, glancing back at the soldiers-in-training. They were sparring, the click and clacks of dulled blades clashing against wooden shields ringing clear in the frosty, morning, air. "Henrik," he called to his former squire, who was in the midst of teaching one of the girl's how to riposte. The young man turned to him and raised his brow. "You have the command here. I will... return shortly."
He had to hurry down the guard tower stairs to catch up with Kirk, who hadn't bothered waiting for him. The dark knight whistled a cheerful tune as he strolled through the castle, taking the twists and turns of the halls with a lackadaisical pace. Solaire was thankful, at least, the man wasn't talking, he'd rather walk on in silence then have to deal with the knight's wretched tongue. They passed through a long hall, descended a flight of stairs, and wound up exiting into the great hall from some narrow side passage; Solaire never ceasing to be amazed at the many untrodden paths he'd yet to take in the castle.
A smattering of men and women, those were not still atop the Archive's walls at least, were gathered at the long tables eating and chattering quietly amongst each other. At the head of the room, gathered on the stone dais that overlooked the rest of the hall, were Chester and Abby; Chester masked in his longcoat and top hat, Abby garnished in a loose robe of cream-colored silk, silver slippers, and a jeweled crown around her brow. Solaire was a bit taken aback by the sight of the crown, not figuring Abby to be the sort to wear such an extravagant thing. When Kirk and himself approached the dais and set foot on its short fall of stairs to join them, Abby turned to face their way and Solaire gasped. The girl's face had gone even more gaunt in the cheeks since the last time he'd seen her, and the darkness that had started ringing the bottoms of her pretty eyes was far more pronounced. She's aged ten years since coming here, Solaire thought with a sadness in his heart. That poor thing.
Kirk moved to the wooden chairs at the rear of the dais and exchanged nods with Chester. Solaire moved beside them and fixed his eyes on Abby, who was staring blankly at Kirk. "My lady," he greeted. Abby's head seemed to turn his way before her eyes did, and when she spotted him, a vague look of confusion came across her, as if she didn't know who he was. Then the faintest of smiles crept up her gaunt face and she planted her hands to the chair arms and rose; Solaire noting the way her arms shook with the effort of lifting herself.
"Solaire," she said, her smile widening, and fell forth into his arms to hug him.
She was so light in his hold, it was as if he were holding air. "My lady, are you alright? You don't look well, Abby. Is it... is it the nightmares still?"
"Yes," her voice came half-muffled against his chest. "Nightmares... terrible things." She pulled away, but kept hold of his arms. Her smile, at least, did not waver. "It's my burden to bear, though. Don't worry about me. How are you? How is the training?"
"It goes well my lady," Solaire answered, finding it difficult to look her in the eyes. "It... well, I was in the midst of a session when Kirk informed me you wish to speak with me?"
"Not exactly," Chester answered for her, rising beside the girl and wrapping her shoulder in his arm. He pulled her gently from Solaire and guided her back to the chair beside him. "There will be justice today, knight," the man said, his dark eyes peering out from beneath his mask. "And you will serve it."
"Justice?"
"Logan's justice," Chester confirmed. He turned to Kirk and nodded. "Go get him."
Kirk laughed and vanished behind the dais. Solaire turned his frown from the knight to Chester. "What is the meaning of this? What justice do you speak of? Where is Logan himself?"
"Logan is busy," Chester said. "My sweet Abby here has been granted the power to speak with his voice. Her word is as good as his now." And with that, he leaned across the chairs and kissed her on the cheek. Abby smiled at him, resting her hand on his own.
What a despicable man to lay his lips on as sweet a girl as her, Solaire thought, grimacing.
"Ladies and gentleman, your attention," Chester said, cupping his hands around his mask to carry his voice across the hall. "Your attention. Here, you fools. Look here."
Slowly, the men and women feasting at the longtables set aside their meals and turned their bemused faces towards the dais, the chatter dying away and plunging the hall into a profound silence. Chester nodded. "Logan has a message to send today. It may appear cruel, but both he and I assure you it is necessary for the continued safety of all you fine folks within these walls. And your Chosen hero approves. Abby?"
Abby again clambered out of the chair with some effort, facing the crowd and setting her weak little smile upon them. "Yes. I approve."
"She speaks with Logan's voice now, so that's as good as his approval," Chester went on. "Kirk! Bring out the heretic."
Solaire turned with the rest of the crowd to face the rear entrance of the dais. Kirk and Petrus emerged, a man bound at the hands and blinded by a black bag over his head came struggling between them. Oh, may the Sun shine its mercy upon us, Solaire thought as he studied the prisoner. That man is too large to be anyone else...
Kirk and Petrus wrestled the captive to the head of the dais, where wooden stocks awaited. They shoved him to his knees with some effort and quickly worked his neck and wrists into the three grooves of the wood. Kirk slammed the stocks shut around the man, locking him in place, and Petrus ripped the hood free from his head. The large, shaggy-haired, head of 'Black Iron' Tarkus emerged.
"What is the meaning of this!?" Solaire snapped at once, stepping beside his friend. "Remove this man from the stocks now. I will vouch for his character. I assure you he's done nothing-"
"He is a traitor and a dragon-worshiper and if you touch those stocks, you'll find yourself in them soon enough," Chester said.
Tarkus turned his head the most it could muster locked between the wooden planks and offered Solaire a smile. "My friend," he called up to the knight. "Don't do anything rash. I do not fear these little men." Solaire saw one of the big man's eyes were swollen shut, and when he spoke, he could spot missing teeth in his mouth.
"He's been beaten," Solaire declared furiously. "You have no right to beat a man in captivity."
"We have the right to do what Logan tells us to," Kirk said, the ever-persistent smirk on his face raising higher as he spoke. "And Logan wants all the dragon-worshipers dealt with."
"If he would give up his friends," Petrus added. "His suffering would be over. But the man... the man only laughs when we hit him. He won't talk."
"You hit like women," Tarkus said and his hearty laughter filled the great hall.
Petrus' chubby face darkened. "You won't laugh after today."
"You're not going to kill this man," Solaire commanded, and suddenly wished he'd had his sword in its hilt.
"No, we're not," Chester confirmed. The slender man turned to the crowd, who'd been watching the drama unfold in a confused silence, and addressed them. "But we will," he bellowed. "Hear my words, people, a cult has sprung up amongst you! A cult that seeks to see the world to darkness - to dragons!"
Chatter immediately rumbled through the great hall as the men and women turned to one another and began whispering their trepidation.
Chester let them talk for a bit before continuing. "They are small and they are treacherous but they are among you. Some very likely in this room right now. They will come forth," Chester said, turning and standing aside so the crowd could look upon Tarkus in his stocks. "And every day they don't? Their friend here will lose one of his fingers. That gives them ten days. On the eleventhhe will lose his head. Spread the word. Solaire."
Solaire, who'd been standing with his mouth agape taking all of this information in, pulled out of his daze and faced the masked man. "What? You don't- surely you don't expect me to do such a vicious, cruel, thing! Tarkus is my friend! He is a good man! He-"
"He is your friend," Chester admitted. "Which is why we suspect that you are one of these dragon-worshipers."
"Preposterous!" Solaire protested.
"Prove it. Cut his finger off."
"The thumb of his right hand," Kirk added. "So that way the big bastard can't swing that big bastard sword of his no more."
Solaire looked to the crowd. They were watching, some of them in horror, some with casual interest, some with a lustful look in their eye for violence. He shook his head reproachfully before turning to Abby. She'd seated herself again and was facing the far wall, not looking upon the little scene playing out before her. "Abby..." he called, and when she didn't face him, went on sternly, "If you allow this to happen, you are as responsible as the man who mutilates my friend here. Do you understand that?"
"You don't talk to her that way anymore," Chester warned, stepping between them. "She is your princess."
"Princess?" Solaire echoed incredulously.
"If you won't send a message to these cultist," Chester continued, "Abby will be forced to relieve you of your position as captain of the guard, and you will be thrown behind bars until we decide whether your loyalty lies with us or against us."
"You dare to question my loyalty you- you coward!?" Solaire snapped, his fists balling.
Chester fixed him with an even look. "Abby... he won't serve justice to the dragon-worshiper and he looks to be on the verge of striking one of us. Your permission to detain the knight?"
Solaire's eyes flicked from Chester to Abby. "...Abby..." he croaked from his suddenly dry throat.
The girl turned to him. There were tears falling from her dark-ringed eyes. "Solaire... they would see me dead," she said, her voice trembling. "They want to assassinate me. They want to give Lordran to the dragons! You have to see how... how terrible they are."
"This isn't right," Solaire pleaded with her. "To mutilate this man makes us just as savage as any dragon-worshiper, I assure you of that!"
"Forget it, Solaire," Tarkus said. "The girl is as mad now as Havel the Rock. She can't be reasoned with. Let 'em take my finger. I'll use the other nine to crush their feeble bones later."
"...I'm not mad..." Abby protested quietly.
Chester moved quickly to her side and seated himself, taking her hand in his own and kissing at it. He leaned forth and whispered in her ear. Abby listened, nodding, and when the masked man pulled away, she looked at Solaire. "Brave Knight of the Sun," she addressed him loud enough for the great hall to hear. "I..." her voice grew shaky, but Chester rubbed his thumb along her hand til she calmed and went on. "I deem you unfit to captain Logan's guard if you will not serve his justice." A tear swelled in her eye and rolled down her cheek. "Will you serve his justice? ...please," she added in a quiet, desperate, voice.
Solaire stared at her for a long time then. She is lost, he realized as her hands trembled and her eyes flittered nervously around the hall. "No," he answered with a defiant shake of his head. "I will not."
"Seize him," Chester commanded, leaned into Abby, and whispered something.
Abby swiped tears from her cheeks and rose from her chair. "I... I appoint the Knight of Thorns, Kirk, to captain of Logan's guard. He is to... assume all of Knight Solaire's responsibilities immediately."
"About time," Kirk muttered. He bowed, accepting the position, pulled a dagger free from a sheath at his hip, and sauntered before Tarkus whistling his cheerful tune from before. Without hesitation, he leaned down, took the man's right hand in his own, and set the blade where Tarkus' big thumb met his big palm.
"Wait!" Abby pleaded, moving forth so quickly, she nearly collapsed from the exertion. When Chester had taken hold of her to steady her again, she pointed a trembling finger at Tarkus. "We can afford one day for this man, can't we? One day? You can... you can do that tomorrow. Give the dragon-worshipers one day to come forth before doing any... any bad things to this man."
A reproachful look passed between Chester, Kirk, and Petrus so quickly, Solaire would have missed it if he had blinked.
"Please," Abby begged Chester.
Chester's words came quietly and harshly. "You don't beg us, Abby. You're in command here. Don't weaken yourself before the people. Letting this man go unpunished today? That is weakening yourself as well."
"I don't care!" Abby shouted.
"She's tired," Petrus said.
"Aye, put the girl to bed," Kirk agreed.
"I'm not tired," Abby protested. "And even if I was I couldn't sleep anyway!"
"Are yeh cuttin' his finger off er not?" An older man barked from the crowd. "Cez' if yer not, I got a meal gettin' cold here."
Chester held Abby's rheumy eyes for a moment before turning to the crowd. "No," he answered, the disappointment evident in his tone. "Your princess and Chosen hero has decided to be merciful today to this man. She has a kind heart. Tomorrow, however, he loses two fingers if the dragon-worshipers have not come forth or if someone has not provided us with information leading to their capture. Go back to your damned meals."
When the crowd had resumed their chatter and the dais had calmed, Kirk and Petrus stepped to either side of Solaire. Solaire fixed them both with a shrewd look before facing Abby to question what was to become of him. Chester noticed him, flipped his mask partially up his face, took the girl by the chin, and covered her mouth with his own.
"Let's go, knight," Petrus said, taking Solaire's arm.
Kirk grabbed the other violently. "Fight me, Solaire. I dare you. I'm the bloody captain of the guard now. I'll break you. Heh."
The two wrestled Solaire down the stone stairs of the dais and hauled him back towards the rear entrance of the great hall. Solaire stole one more glance at Abby, but the girl was still engaged with Chester. She's not completely lost just yet, he thought as they pulled him through the passage. But it will certainly not be me who saves her now. Not from a dungeon cell, at least. May the Sun watch over the both of us.
Halfway down the passage, when they were far enough from the great hall to go undisturbed, Kirk spun Solaire into the wall and drove his knee into his gut. The wind raced from Solaire as he crumbled to his knees, but his lack of breath became the least of his worries.
The two of them savagely beat him then, driving their armored knees and elbows and fists into his face and body, shoving him to the ground, holding his face to the stone as they kicked at his ribs. Pain wracked every inch of him as they pummeled him into the floor. When at last the darkness came to steal away his consciousness, it was the first time Solaire could remember that he welcomed it.