To Kill A Warlock: The Holy Warriors, #2

By Christopher Patterson

A witch is dead and the new Kingdom of England is free from her evil grip…but the work is not done.

 

Thaddeus thought he would rest, but there is no rest for those who have been called to fight evil. An evil greater than anything the Holy Warriors have ever seen is stirring across Europe and they are the only ones that can stop it.

 

Thaddeus dreams of a warlock positioning himself amongst the nobility of Europe, but this man is different than any other agent of evil Thaddeus has ever dealt with. He is powerful and commands the devil's minions. And as this wizard gains more power, the shadow grows across the continent and beyond.

 

And while Thaddeus and his fellow warriors seek to find this warlock, grumblings about unrest in the Holy Land become more than just whispers. The Eastern Church is in distress and the Western Church seeks to gain more power. It is a perfect storm, and the perfect stage for a confederacy of evil to gain a foothold in the world.

Thaddeus must face a hard choice, one that threatens to shatter loyalties, friendships and faith.

 

Will Thaddeus be too late as he and his Holy Warriors seek to Kill a Warlock?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Patterson
• Release date: Aug 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986559117

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

As if a thick mist had slowly cleared, the man came into focus. His skin pale, teeth white as bone, he held his chin high, and he was handsome, yet his eyes held a glint of cruelty. His hair, as black as midnight, partially spilled over his shoulders, the remainder held off his face in a tail held by a woven cord. As the room lightened, as if the sun had slowly revealed that which had been cloaked by the cover of night, Thaddeus Christopoulos could see the man was not alone, the room full of people, mostly women. This man—Thaddeus couldn’t think of his name although he knew the face—spoke with a tall, lean man with even paler skin and lips too red to be natural.

You again, Thaddeus muttered as he pulled the handsome man’s name from his memory.

Galen, the erstwhile companion of Renata, the witch who had held England in her icy grip. He remembered Galen’s presence as he fought Renata in Count Stephen’s quarters. He had sensed the man’s power then, just as he did now.

Galen! Thaddeus yelled, readying himself to fight, but his shout fell on deaf ears. He tried again, but when no one responded, he realized he couldn’t be heard, or even seen.

Come to me, ma chérie.

Galen’s voice like a father to a child, he extended a hand to a young woman sitting against a wall. While dirty, her face remained pretty, her clothing little better than rags. She hesitated, seeming frightened, but when he bade her one more time—the hint of red brightening his eyes—she stood and took the Warlock’s hand.

Good girl. I want you to meet my friend, the Baron Florin.

Galen’s pale-faced companion smiled, stepping forward as he reached up with long fingers. The fingernails were well-manicured to grab the girl’s chin. As he turned her face this way and that, she whimpered but gave no resistance. He ran a finger along the collar of the girl’s dirt-smattered dress, roughly pulling it aside, revealing a shoulder and breast. His smile widened as he rubbed two fingers along her throat. As they slid over her skin like thin snakes to the side of her neck, his red lips parted, and he revealed his teeth. His canines were long and pointed, and the girl, her eyes wide, sought to pull away, but his grip was too strong.

Vampire, Thaddeus gasped.

He had only seen one other vampire in his long life, although he had heard of them often. In his ancient homeland of Laconia, they were known as Empusa or Lamia, but the understanding of vampires had changed over time. Most of Christendom assumed vampires were undead, working for the Devil and charged with leading legions of demons, but in Greece, they weren’t. Empusa were very much alive, and although they worked in concert with other foul creatures, they were equally independent and sought to serve their own devious ends.

It wasn’t in his homeland that Thaddeus had seen a vampire, however, but in Britannia when he served as a Centurion in the Roman army in the deep woods of what was now Scotland. Thaddeus confronted a shaman woman living with the Picts, who drank the blood of young men, women, and children to retain her youth. She was very much alive until Thaddeus removed her head from her body.

Vampires were rare and solitary beings, powerful and egotistical, so much so that two such creatures had to live miles and miles apart lest they wage war on one another. So to see one here, in the company of Galen, was shocking.

She will do well with the other livestock, said the vampire.

Is she not beautiful? Galen asked. My good Baron Florin, surely she is worth more than food?

The vampire grabbed the woman by the waist and pulled her to him. He leaned down and sniffed her neck. Clearly petrified, she involuntarily tilted her head to the side. Florin sniffed deeply, taking in her scent.

So many of these peasant girls are spoiled, Florin said, pushing the girl away, barely worth the blood coursing through their veins, but yes, this one is special.

Florin looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with a broad-shouldered, burly man with long, matted, dark hair and a wild, bushy beard.

Take her, Elias, Florin commanded.

Yes, my lord, the burly man—Elias—said with a stiff bow, grabbing the woman by the wrist, roughly pulling her to him, and tying her hands together with a leather cord.

There was something about this other man, Elias, but Thaddeus couldn’t put a finger on it. He seemed wild, animalistic almost, and his eyes had a yellowish tint. His fingernails, the opposite of the vampire’s, were misshapen and dirty but still appeared to be pointed.

I do not get away much anymore, but I do enjoy my trips to Burgundy, Florin said with a malicious smile. You certainly make the journey worthwhile.

France, Thaddeus muttered to himself.

My thanks for the kind words, Galen said. Indeed, it is a pleasure doing business with an old friend. Now, in the matter of business …

Of course, Florin said, still wearing an insincere smile. He lifted his hand, a bag floating from his belt, and stopped, hovering, in front of Galen.

Galen lifted a hand so that it was just under the bag, and it promptly dropped into his palm with an audible clink of coin.

This feels a little heavier, Galen said.

A little extra, Florin said with a crude wink, for the unspoiled girl and the robust livestock.

Galen smirked and bowed. Florin turned to Elias and two other hooded men clothed in black robes.

Take them, Florin said. He looked at the young peasant girl. Make sure, Elias, this one stays unspoiled.

Thaddeus now realized the other people in the room all sat bound with rope.

Stand, Florin said, his voice hard. You are now my servants. To belong to Baron Florin is an honored thing, but if you choose to disobey me, defy me, or simply lose my favor …

Florin looked at Elias. The burly man gave the vampire a tired look but reluctantly shrugged his shoulders. He closed his yellow eyes, and the muscles under his cheeks undulated, and with a pained expression, his face took on a different shape. His nose extending into a snout, his ears elongating, dark fur began growing from his skin.

Thaddeus couldn’t help being revulsed as the man’s body convulsed, the transformation violent and cruel, his clothes ripping and tearing, until a hideous creature—one that looked half man and half beast—stood before the others in the room, snarling and drooling, bearing long fangs. Some women screamed, and others whimpered, looking away in fear and disgust.

Lycanthrope.

Thaddeus knew these creatures, which could take on several forms, usually shared a familiarity with some sort of beast, normally wolves. The Saxons called them werewolves—which literally meant man-wolf—but Thaddeus had also seen a lycanthrope that shared characteristics with a bear in Germania, and in Italy, he came across a clan of lycanthropes who would change themselves into giant rats. He was far more familiar with lycanthropes than vampires, and the former were a dangerous and unpredictable lot.

Florin gave Galen one last glance.

Until next time, Galen, Florin said.

Until next time, Baron, Galen replied, and as he turned away, his body shimmered and faded, and darkness returned.

It was then that Thaddeus realized he hadn’t been sleeping, and this was no dream. This was a vision of something that had happened. Or was happening elsewhere.

CHAPTER TWO

Thaddeus opened his eyes, staring at the Scottish sky, dark but with hints of purples and blues as the sun prepared its ascent into the sky. The dawn air was cold, despite the springtime, and the fire had died to little more than embers. The centuries-old centurion sat up. Gunnar, Asaf, and Alden were all still asleep, although Alden had begun to stir. The newest addition to their group, Alden, was a Saxon, whereas the other two were from Sweden and Jerusalem respectively. After Thaddeus, Alden was the earliest riser in their party, tending to the horses and making food to break their fast.

Damn it, you stupid Saxon cur, the defrocked priest Asaf cursed, his mouth a constant source of irritation for Thaddeus, stop wriggling about like a child.

I know where our Lord is sending us next, Asaf. Thaddeus looked to his waking friend.

Asaf sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You couldn’t bloody wait another few hours, so I might get some more sleep? Asaf complained, his tone grumpy as usual. You are the one who had me up all night blessing Scottish peasants and healing their ailments as if one could be surprised by constant sickness in this godforsaken weather.

Thaddeus had learned long ago that it was best to ignore his friend’s complaints.

France, Thaddeus pronounced. "We must go to France."

France? Asaf asked, his voice dripping with irritation. We recently came from France. Are you sure?

Yes.

Where in France? Asaf asked.

Burgundy, Thaddeus said, I think.

Great, Asaf replied, rolling his eyes. And what does the Lord wish us to do in France?

Finish something we have started, Thaddeus replied.

Oh, Asaf said. By Christ’s bones, are you going to tell me or keep it a mystery?

Renata had a male companion with her in Count Stephen’s room, Thaddeus said.

Asaf spat at the witch’s name.

Is it so strange that a whore witch would have a male companion with her? Asaf asked.

He was a Warlock, I am sure of it, Thaddeus added.

So? Asaf questioned. Has the Lord suddenly commissioned us as witch hunters?

He is powerful, Thaddeus explained. And working with a vampire.

Asaf’s eyes widened.

Vampires are a myth. The priest’s mouth dipped as his bushy eyebrows deepened his frown.

How many creatures and people have we encountered in our many years on this earth that people have assumed were myths and superstitions, including witches? Thaddeus asked, and Asaf rolled his eyes.

Really? A vampire? Alden sat up, fully awake.

You toss and turn enough to wake me, but don’t rouse yourself, Asaf accused.

Yes," Thaddeus confirmed.

Vampire or fire-breathing dragon. Still not a reason to go to France, Asaf grumbled. Did the Lord specifically call you to France to deal with this Warlock and this vampire?

Not as such, but why else show me the vision?

Dreams can be confusing, Asaf added, poking the fire’s embers with a stick.

"This was not a dream; it was a vision."

Asaf’s expression flattened, and he crossed himself, something he seldom did anymore.

I’ve had enough of witches and Warlocks for a lifetime, Asaf said. And if I went another lifetime without seeing or meeting a vampire, I would be happy.

It’s a good thing the Lord has granted us several lifetimes, so you won’t miss out, Thaddeus teased, but his expression remained serious.

Asaf sighed. He closed his eyes, looking as if he were about to pray.

Well then, my Lord, why now? Asaf muttered.

All in His timing, my friend, Thaddeus replied.

Are you sure this is the Lord’s bidding? Asaf asked, opening his eyes again.

Completely certain? Thaddeus asked. No. But I do believe this to be His will.

Then who are we to argue? Asaf said, his knees creaking like an old staircase as he stood.

CHAPTER THREE

A ll I know is I will glad to rid myself of this godforsaken land … Asaf spat on the ground as they rode toward the Scottish-Northumbrian border where they would procure a boat to France.

Say it again, Alden, but this time in Greek. Thaddeus ignored his clerical friend as Alden recited Biblical phrases in Latin. His Latin was coming along quite well and quickly, but, as with seemingly everyone, he was learning Greek at a much slower rate.

… and everyone wears dresses here, Asaf added.

You used to wear a dress, Gunnar, the tall, blond-haired and broad-shouldered Viking said with his typical smirk.

It wasn’t a dress, Asaf snapped. They were my robes. And I didn’t wear them all the time. They were uncomfortable.

Again. Thaddeus did his best to ignore the others’ bickering so he could teach Alden.

The young Saxon spoke a few languages, but they were the local, colloquial ones of his native England. Now he was learning some of the older, wider spoken languages that helped one get around most of the known world, the educated languages, although Thaddeus hated referring to them as such. But Alden’s innate intelligence meant Thaddeus was sure by the following year that the man could begin to learn Hebrew, not that it would do him much good other than give him the tools to read his Bible and communicate with Asaf, Gunnar, and him.

Thaddeus finally rolled his eyes as Gunnar and Asaf continued arguing about the feminine aspects of men’s dress around the world.

Romans and Greeks wore togas, not much different than the traditional kilts the Scots and most other Gaelic peoples wear, Thaddeus said, and didn’t the Ancient Hebrews wear tunics, which looked much like dresses?

You’re a rat turd, Asaf grumbled. Regardless, I’ll be glad to be back in the land of civilized people.

Civilized? Thaddeus asked.

Please, Thaddeus, do not give me your lecture about who is civilized and uncivilized, Asaf said.

Just remember, our friend Gunnar was once considered a barbarian by much of the world.

Asaf just rolled his eyes, heeling his horse forward and separating from the others, making both Gunnar and Thaddeus laugh.

He’s such a sensitive prick. Gunnar laughed.

He’s tired, Thaddeus replied. This last mission took a lot out of him, Gunnar. When you have been doing the Lord’s work for centuries, your mind wanders. You begin to question yourself and the world around you. You will see. You’re still a youngster, after all.

I’m two hundred and eighty-nine years old, thank you very much, Gunnar replied, then thought momentarily. I think.

Thaddeus laughed.

But in truth, Thaddeus, Gunnar added, after doing the Lord’s work for so many years, after seeing so much—especially tragedy—is this a curse, as some have suggested, or is it a blessing? This thing we have been charged with?

Thaddeus felt his stomach knot.

After eight hundred years on this earth, and Asaf has been alive a little over six hundred years, I have asked this question many times, Thaddeus replied after several moments of thought. The conclusion to which I have come: it is neither. I do not believe the Lord has cursed us for our sins any more than He would another, and I do not believe the Lord has blessed us as believers any more, either. I simply believe He has determined this is for what we are best suited. And until He deems us done, or we meet our end by the sword, we will continue to serve Him the best we can, when He will let us enter paradise. But you are right. Asaf is a sensitive prick.

Thaddeus and Gunnar laughed together.

As they rode east, several dozen Scotsmen passed them, going west and south, most of them clad in kilts and carrying long spears or their traditional, two-handed long swords, but some clad in mail with the looks of regular soldiers.

England? Alden asked one of the passing soldiers, speaking his best form of Gaelic he could muster, when they stopped to take a drink from a burbling stream.

Aye, the man replied, revealing a single blackened tooth. King Malcolm is dead. Word is, a lone English soldier killed him under the guise of a white flag. And his son, Edward, is dead too.

Malcolm and Edward? Alden asked, reining his horse to keep still.

Aye, the same man replied. Under the pretense of peace, the fools attacked Northumbria again.

And now Malcolm’s other son Duncan, and the King’s brother, Donald, fight each other for the title of king, another soldier added. William Rufus is surely laughing at us now.

Peace be with you, Thaddeus said. I pray the Lord keep you and protect you.

Several of the soldiers laughed.

Peace? the first soldier exclaimed. There is no peace in this place. Only chaos and death. And as for God …He left Scotland and England a long time ago.

That couldn’t be farther from the truth, Thaddeus whispered to himself, and then speaking up, said, We have a priest in our fold. Would you like him to pray with you before you to go to battle?

Thaddeus heard Asaf grumble and Gunnar chuckle.

For these backward, sheep-loving idiots? Asaf muttered.

Nah, one of the soldiers said. It’ll do us no good. And we are going to be late.

The Scottish soldiers marched off.

Fools, Asaf added.

You blame them for wanting to ensure their freedom? Gunnar asked. Didn’t the ancient Hebrews fight and revolt multiple times in the name of freedom?

Says the Swede, the taker of freedom, Asaf spat. Gunnar just laughed.

I remember plenty of Judean sheepherders shagging their flock in my time as a Centurion, Thaddeus added, knowing it would only irritate his clerical friend even further. But Asaf didn’t say anything. He simply prodded his horse forward again, creating even more space between him and the other three.

Why is he so grumpy? Alden asked.

Thaddeus and Gunnar laughed.

Well, my young friend, he … Thaddeus began but stopped. He pulled hard on Polemistes’ reins, sticking his nose to the sky. Do you smell it?

Gunnar simply nodded.

Smell what? Alden asked.

Quiet, the Viking said, holding up a hand. He sniffed the air also, like a wolf tracking its prey.

Rotten flesh, Thaddeus finally said when he turned to Alden. The smell of the corrupted.

Alden looked at Thaddeus with raised eyebrows and questioning eyes.

The minions of the Devil, you fool of a Saxon, Asaf said. Thaddeus hadn’t realized his clerical friend had turned around. Clearly, he smelled it too. Those who have devoted their lives to the enemy, living or undead … or otherwise.

Was it the Scots? Alden asked.

No, Gunnar said, shaking his head. We would have smelled it earlier. No, it … or they are in front of us.

Be ready, Thaddeus said. He looked at Asaf. Priest.

Asaf huffed loudly and rolled his eyes, but nonetheless, he closed his eyes, and his lips began to move silently. The hair on Thaddeus’ arms rose, his mind sharpened, and he felt stronger. He believed Asaf’s prayers had supernatural power, as he requested God give them strength and clarity, but even if He didn’t, just knowing his clerical friend prayed made him feel better.

They hadn’t ridden much longer when they heard the distant crashing of waves as the cold waters of the channel separating England from the rest of Europe smashed against the tall cliffs of the Scottish coastland. Staring at the terrain, gently sloping upwards towards the bluffs, Thaddeus caught a glimpse of a cart slowly rolling towards them, pulled by two oxen. The smell of death—the smell of evil—grew stronger and more pungent, and Thaddeus, through a sidelong glance, caught Alden putting an arm to his nose.

Put your arm down, Thaddeus commanded, and even though he could tell his new Saxon companion was about to retch, he did as he was told. He looked to Gunnar and Asaf. Be alert.

They both nodded, even the ever-grumpy Asaf.

Two men rode in the front of the cart, mostly covered by a dingy white awning, its foreword flap pulled close so one couldn’t see inside, not that Thaddeus or anyone else could have seen its contents from their distance. As it neared, the two men sitting on the bench came into better view. The driver slouched, looked almost hunch-backed, and wore a faded, black hood while the other sat tall, with neat, close-cropped dark hair, a bald face, and a wide smile. As Thaddeus and his companions neared the cart, which—on closer inspection—looked worn and, yet, well-constructed, it slowed.

Follow me, Thaddeus said without looking to his companions, the stink of death and evil ever growing.

Sprece þū Englisc? the dark-haired man asked, speaking in the language of the indigenous Angles. Then, switching to the language most of the French spoke, Le français est-il meilleur?

Either, Thaddeus replied in the Angles’ language.

The dark-haired man nodded.

Very well, he replied in the same language. What might four fine men such as yourselves, and such a diverse group, be doing on this excellent Scottish morning?

The man had a haughtiness to him—his voice, demeanor, and even his clothing, which looked well-worn but expensive. Soft wool pants tucked into high leather boots. A white shirt with a few travel stains and a few tatters. A red overcoat. He, at least, thought he was important.

Thaddeus heard Asaf curse and looked to the sky, hazy clouds merging as a mist began to swirl around them.

It is too early to play games, Thaddeus said, watching as the cart’s passenger straightened his back and the hunched-over driver—face still hidden by a low hanging hood—shifted uneasily in his seat. One of the oxen—both looked sickly, with ribs showing through their sides, sunken eyes, and dingy coats—irritably stomped a hoof while the other snorted loudly, the driver trying to hush the beast.

What are you talking—

Thaddeus held up a hand, the stench of evil rich and heavy around the cart and its occupants.

I have a feeling you know who we are, Thaddeus replied, cutting the passenger off.

The well-kempt man sighed deeply. His skin was pale, and Thaddeus considered that one might call him handsome, if not a little thin, but at that moment, darkness overcame him as if some small shadow had come to rest over him.

Thaddeus Christopoulos, the man said, and Thaddeus nodded. And this must be Asaf Segal the Jew and Gunnar Sigurdsson the Viking. The man’s eyes settled on Alden, and Thaddeus saw a purplish glint for a moment before they reverted to their normal, dark brown. You, however, I don’t know. A new recruit, Thaddeus?

And who do I have the pleasure of treating with? Thaddeus asked, ignoring the question. "It’s been a while since