Sir Emeric had returned with the Bishop's army, prepared to take control of the monastery and force Melcher Fitz to release St. Giradin and cease all interrogations. But it was a different form of madness he encountered when he and the Bishop's knights and archers arrived.

Fires blazed within the monastery, with smoke billowing out the windows. The sounds of violence rang out from within, and even from the saddle Sir Emeric could see the Vermin inside, followed closely by the headless-men, the faces in their chests twisted into expressions of sadistic glee.

It's Giradin's prophecy... Oh, Christ forgive me! I did not heed his words!

Sir Emeric drew his sword and lowered his helmet down upon his head. "Vermin have taken the headquarters of the Crows. Let us take the monastery back! For life, for peace, and for God Almighty!"

The galloping horses were like a sound of rolling thunder. One of the Bishop's knights blew a war horn to tell the survivors of the Vermin attack to take hope, for help was on its way. Shlomo and Fulk rode beside Sir Emeric on either side, their crossbows at the ready.

Headless men poured out of the monastery's front doors, snarling, cursing, and brandishing their clubs. No doubt, they'd heard the sound of the approaching army and came to meet them in battle.

Both Shlomo and Fulk loosed their bolts as soon as they were within range, and piercing two headless men's faces.

The headless men charged at the approaching cavalry, twirling their clubs menacingly.

Two forces met in the middle with a mighty crash, and the violence ensued. Like so many other battles Sir Emeric had fought before, all dignity and honor disappeared the moment the knights met their enemies face to face. The men became as savage beasts, rending flesh and shattering bones.

A headless man's club had narrowly missed Sir Emeric's head, and the Templar, in turn, severed his attacker's arm at the elbow.

At the end of the flurry of steel and scarlet, the headless men lay dead, and only a few knights had fallen beside them. Those divided in their lifetime had become united in the Grave, and would soon face Eternal Judgment.

Sir Emeric dismounted and marched through the front doors, his tabbard already soaked. The entourage of knights followed him in, as did Shlomo and Fulk, who had hung up their crossbows and exchanged them for a mace and a short sword.

The scene inside the monastery made even the battle-hardened Sir Emeric grimace and retch. The remains of plague-ridden men and women lay strewn about the floor. Hills of the corpses of Crows, Vermin, headless men, and rats piled up so high that they blocked passageways within the monastery. The stench of rotting meat, copper, and bile burned in Sir Emeric's nostrils and lingered on his tongue. Flies buzzed about, their presence so loud even the continuing violence could not drown them out.

Shlomo tapped Sir Emeric's shoulder to get his attention, and when he had it he said, "If anyone's still alive, they're likely holed up in the sanctuary."

Sir Emeric shook his head. "St. Giradin's in the cells below. He's our best chance to end this battle." While Sir Emeric believed this was true, he'd be lying to himself if he claimed it was his primary reason for wanting to save Giradin first. Since the moment his eyes beheld the carnage done to the monastery, his heart had been racing with the terrible thought that the wonderful young man had come to harm. Familiar feelings of loss rose into Sir Emeric's heart, and he was not certain he could endure that suffering again.

Shlomo nodded. "Very well. Why don't you take half the men with you to find Giradin and I can lead the other half to the sanctuary."

Sir Emeric nodded and turned to the knights behind him, "Half of you follow this Crow, the rest of you stay with me!"

The knights took one hallway after another, marching together with their shields high and their swords cutting their path for them. Vermin and rats threw themselves at the knights, only for shields to push them back and boots to trample them under foot.

Rugs and curtains blazed, filling the halls with smoke and forcing the knights to crouch as they walked so they could breathe cleaner air and see the path ahead of them. The heat filled their armor with sweat, and the distant screams filled their hearts with rage and dread.

Finally, Sir Emeric reached the stairs leading down into the cells, where the sick were kept.

The floor was an unstable carpet of bodies both human and otherwise, but no obstacle was so great that it could have even slowed Sir Emeric from reaching his goal at this point. He strode over the corpses as easily as a man does through grassy fields.

He reached Giradin's cell, peered inside, and saw that the saint was gone.