The (Solo) Adventures of Solomon Kane

Breathing heavily, Mane slides the blade of his dirk from Gaston’s body and wipes it on the corpse’s lacy collar.  The bandit was a hard opponent to be sure, fast and treacherous.  On hands and knees, he looks up before standing, only to be confronted by the bulk of the landlord, looming in the doorway.

“Ho, Ho!” the landlord roars.  “What do we have here? Half my work done for me. Back!”

A bloody cleaver is thrust into Kane’s very face.  In his other hand, the landlord clutches a heavy, vicious looking knife.

“Back!” he repeated with a tigerish roar, causing Kane to retreat from the menacing weapon and the insanity in his red eyes.

The Englishman rises and stands silent before his captor, his flesh crawling as he senses a deeper and more hideous threat than the Frenchman could ever pose.  There is something inhuman about this man, who now sways to and fro like some great forest beast, while his mirthless laugher booms out again.

“I must calm this man before he acts”’ Kane thought, “He seems to be unstable and likely to act to sudden movement or missteped speech”.

The landlord speaks slowly, his voice breaking as he recounts his torments.  Kane makes no answer, though his compassion for this man fills his eyes.  He was not the first, nor will be the last whose brain was shattered by the deprivations of the continental prisons.  But compassion does not stop a madman’s blade, so the act continues as Kane encourages the man to talk, rather than act.

Kane gathered himself like a giant wolf about to launch himself in a death leap, but Gaston’s hand was like a rock and his pistol never trembles.

“We will have no death plunges after the shot, M’sieur” the Frenchman muttered.

Kane raged inwardly as Gaston removed his sword and pistols and cast them on the floor.

“So much better, m’sieur”, said Gaston stepping back. “Mayhap we will talk a while until you pass from this mortal world to the hereafter?” he gloated.

Kand bent a grim eye on the dapper fellow who now stood bear-headed, hat in one hand as the other levelled his long pistol.

A heavy silence descended between the adversaries and in the quiet a scratching noise broke the gloom. “What was that?” exclaimed Gaston.

“Rats, I expect, exploring yon skeleton”, said Kane watching the Frenchman like a hawk, looking for an opening or slip to which he could act with purpose.  He watched for any sing of wavering in the black hole of the pistol’s muzzle. “The sound of the rattle of bones.”

“Like enough”, said the other man, “And now M’sieur Kane, I know you carry a considerable amount of money on your person. I had thought to wait until the mid of the night while you slept and then slay you, but this opportunity has presented itself, and who am I to deny fate its helping hand.  You trick too easily”

“I had little thought that I should fear a man with whom I had broken bread”, said Kane a deep timbre of slow fury sounding in his voice.

Kane looked around the room.  There was nothing obvious to distract L’Armon, but mayhaps as he continued to talk and gloat, some chance would arise.

“You are a simple mark”, laughed Gaston.  “It is so easy for you to trust people, is it not?  You meet someone that shares your same path with you and you immediately place him by your side. So foolish … so foolish”.  As he mocks Kane, Gaston slowly walks backwards towards their original sleeping chamber, beckoning Kane to follow. His pistol emphasising the point!

Kane feels the ebb and flow of the mysterious other world settle in the room. He has an uneasy feeling in his soul.

“What was that?” exclaimed Gaston.

“Just more rats”, answered the Puritan, keeping his eyes closely on the Frenchman as he moved further back towards their chamber.

Kane feels a dark shadow cross his path, then dissipate as though swept aside by an unseen hand. He recovers his strength of mind and follow L’Armon into the outer chamber of the secret room.

But at this point Gaston steadies his hand and points the pistol directly at Kane’s head.  “Any last wishes, m’sieur? I do not say this lightly, it will all be over for you soon.  Then mine host will have another skeleton for his secret niche.  That is, if I do not kill him myself.”

“You had best not miss, Frenchman”, Kane taunts. “I’ve dealt with men more vicious than you and half as worthy. If you lower your pistol, I might let you leave with your life and your … honour intact”.

Gaston took a step back, his eyes darting nervously and Kane steps with him.  While Gaston is diverted by the rattling sounds, Kane makes his move. Drawing a knife from his boot, he leaps forward, knocking Gaston off-balance.  The pistol falls from his grasp and discharges with a deafening crash.

L’Armon violently swings the candle he is holding in Kane’s face and draws his knife. With knives drawn the pair grapple. There will only be two outcomes, death or life.

Kane presses his advantage and parrying a wild swing by the Frenchman, strikes a blow to his arm which draws blood. L’Armon shrieks in pain, but remains upright, grappling with Kane and pulling him around as though to somehow shake the dagger from his hand.

Pushing Kane back, Gaston rolls away from the Englishman trying to gather his strength. Kane slowly approaches the Frenchman with a determined stride.  Grasping the man by his lace shirt, Kane dispatches him to the nether kingdom. Stumbling to the floor, Kane slows his breathing to regain his composure.

“Is yonder not a bar fixed to the wall?” spake Kane

“Aye, but ‘tis made fast,” said the Frenchman, tugging at it. “The …”

As he pulled at the bar a section of the wall swung back to reveal a small secret room and the two men bend over the grisly thing laying upon the floor.

“The skeleton of a man!” exclaimed Gaston. “And behold how his bony leg is shackled to the floor! He was imprisoned here to die!”

“Nay”, said Kane, “the skull is cleft – methinks mine host has a grim reason for the name of this hellish tavern.”

At this Gaston drew his sword and with an exhibition of remarkable strength cut the chain adjoining the ring on the leg to a ring set deep in the log floor.

“Why would he shackle a skeleton to the floor?” mused the Frenchman. “Monbleu! ‘Tis a waste of good chain. And now M’sieur”, he ironically addressed the white heap of bones, “I have freed you and you may go where you wish.”

“Have done!” Kane’s voice was deep and fierce. “No good will come of mocking the dead.”

“The dead should defend themselves”’ laughed L’Armon. “Somehow I will slay the man who kills me, though my corpse climb up forty fathoms of ocean to do it!”

Kane turned to the outer door, closing the door to the secret room behind him. He turned to face L’Armon as he exits the room, just as the Frenchman levels a pistol at his face.

“Move not a jot, M’sieur!” His voice sort and menacing, “Move not or I will scatter your few brains over the room”.

“Gaston the Butcher!” said the Englishman soberly. “Fool that I was to trust you!  You range far, murderer! I remember you now with that cursed great hat off – I saw you in Calais some years agone.”

“Aye – and now you will see me never again”, Gaston replied.

Kane held himself steady, his only hope was for the Frenchman to mis-step or be distracted by something. “One chance is all I need”, thought Kane, “one chance and I’ll damn you to hell”.

Kane observed his foe, what was the man going to do?  Would he make a slip and allow Kane a single opportunity to turn the tables? His mind ebbed and flowed with ideas, swinging wildly from positive to negative, from dark to the light. Whatever happens a decision needs must be made in a few seconds.

With a slowly rising feeling of confidence, Kane faced the Frenchman full on, no fear in his eyes.  “What now, M’sieur”, he said ironically, echoing his adversary’s own silky speech.

They made an odd couple. Kane was dressed in blacks and greys as austere as any Puritan would choose to be. Gaston was of a different type entirely, bedecked with lace and plumes, although his finery was somewhat stained from travel. He was handsome in a bold way and his restless eyes shifted from side to side, never still for an instant as they entered an adjacent room seeking some form of object for use as a bar.

The room they were in had a darkly stained floor, the walls and the one bunk hacked to pieces. “Men have died in here”, muttered Kane somberly, “let us make haste in finding what we need and retire to our room.”

They begin their search, Kane keeping one eye on L’Armon as his distrust of the fellow increases with each step they take.  Kane quickly uncovers something which could resolve their dilemma, but after careful thought rejects the item as too weak for the purpose.  The search continues.

Kane then exclaims, “I have it!” spotting a door bar affixed to the wall, “Let us return to our chamber and secure ourselves for the night.”

Kane and L’Armon follow their silent host downs long, dark hall. The stocky, broad body of their guide seems to grow and expand in the light of the small candle he carries, flickering as it casts a shadow behind him.

At a door he halts, indicating that this chamber is where the men are to sleep. Kane and L’Armon enter and the host follows, lighting a candle from the one he carries then lurches back the way he came.

The two men glance at one another. The furnishings were modest; a couple of bunks, a chair or two and a heavy table.

“Let us see if there is a way to make fast the door”, says Kane, “I like not the look of mine host.”

“There are racks on the door and jamb for a bar”, says Gaston, “but no bar.”

“We might break up the table and use the pieces as a jamb”, muses Kane.

“Something is wrong with this place, or mayhap the company I am presently ensconced with. I need to investigate the meaning of this unease I feel”, mused Kane looking sideways at his new companion. “I have seen you somewhere before”, he says, looking closely at L’Armon, “though I can not as yet recall where or when.  Prey note that I am a light sleeper and rest with a loaded pistol at hand”.

The Frenchman laughed, “I was wondering how m’sieur could bring himself to sleep in a room with a stranger”.

As they talk and begin to search for something to use as a bar, Kane feels the darkness closing in around him, and his unease at the meanderings of his erstwhile companion increases.

Kane shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “I must keep a clear head about me”, he thought, “this mystery will need careful calculation and a sound rational.”

Solomon Kane’s long strides devours the miles as shadows lengthen over the Black Forest.  He walked a lonely trail until he came across a dandy following the same path through the darkening wood.

“What Ho, stranger!”, the man called out as Kane came into his view. “Tis a bleak night to be abroad without company. May we travel together to seek refugee in some comfortable Inn?”

“Mayhap we can. What is thy name?” Kane replied.

“L’Armon. Gaston L’Armon at your pleasure” the dandy replied.  Kane was not one to seek comfort in finery and friffery and this L’Armon was a man who seemed to delight in the finer comforts of clothing.  Still, the sword at his side looked to be one used to the travails of night travel, and a second blade in unfamiliar territory was not one to be rejected out of hand.

“Then let us travel together. I am called Solomn Kane. Let us hope a friendly Inn lies on our path as the night draws its shadowy veil around us”.

The pair of unlikely companions marched on together until through a gap in the trees they espied the flickering lights of a low rambling building of heavy logs; a wayside Inn.

Kane observed the sign creaking in the light breeze and remarked on the unsettling image of a skull cleft in twain.

“This place hath a foreboding aspect, methinketh” Kane muttered darkly.

L’Armon called out in a stong voice, ignoring Kane’s dark observation, “What Ho landlord! You have guests to serve on this dark and chilly evening. What Ho!”

The Inn door swung open and a bearded face peered out at the two companions now huddled in their cloaks as the chill of the evening leeched the warmth from their bodies.

The barman stood aside to allow them to enter, albeit with a grudging aspect it seemed. In the flickering shadows of a single candle he led them to a table where the two men ordered their repast and warmed themselves by the small fire as they were served with ale, bread, cheese and cold meat.  A meal fit for a king thought Kane as they last morsels were consumed.

“Come” said the landlord as he led them into the rear of the inn where their chamber lay.

Kane regards the Inn with suspicion. “There is something amiss in this place”, he thinks, “I feel an unease simply walking with these men to my chamber. That evil can have imbued this place with such a malevolent spirit?”

Drawing in his breath and flexing his muscles, he steels himself for what he feels will be some form of conflict. Slowly and determinedly he follows the host into the rear of the Inn where lies the sleeping quarters with one ear to their conversation and an eye to the bleak surroundings. “In whatever form this battle comes, I will be ready”, he muses as they draw close to a chamber door.